UNK-  .-il^  OF 
CAUFOHNIA 

SAN  DIEGO 


-  ? 


TALES  OF  THE 
REVOLUTION 


TALES  OF   THE 
EEYOLUTIOJN^ 

BY    MICHAEL    ARTZIBASHEF 

TRANSLATED  BY 
PERCY  PINKERTON 


NEW  YORK 

B.  W.  HUEBSCH 
MCMXVII 


Prfnfecl  in  Englana 


CONTENTS 


PAOK 

SHEVIRIOF  11 

THE  BLOOD-STAIN  109 

MORNING  SHADOWS  147 

PASHA  TUMANOF  217 

THE  DOCTOR  265 


SHEVmiOF 


SHEVIRIOF 


CHAPTER  I 

At  the  twilight  hour,  when  the  stairs  of  the  lodging- 
house  from  roof  to  basement  were  steeped  in  a  dense, 
black  fog,  and  the  windows  on  each  landing  resembled 
blurred  spots  in  the  gloom,  somebody  rang  a  bell  at 
one  of  the  doors.  Behind  this  greasy  door  with  its 
ragged  covering  of  oilcloth  the  crazy  old  bell  made 
an  angry  sound  that  lasted  for  a  long  time,  and  then 
subsided  in  a  faint  buzz,  as  that  of  a  fly  caught  in  a 
spider's  net ;  a  long-drawn  lament  for  its  miserable  lot. 

Nobody  answered  the  bell.  The  ringer  stood  there, 
rigid  and  erect  as  a  post.  His  figure  showed  in  blacker 
relief  against  the  general  gloom.  So  motionless  did  he 
remain,  that  a  lean  cat,  slinking  downstairs,  never 
heeded  him  as  it  passed.  There  was  something 
sinister  about  him  ;  kindly,  joyous,  open-hearted  men 
are  not  wont  to  stand  thus. 

On  the  stairs  it  was  cold  and  silent,  while  in  the 
dreary  dusk  rancid  vapours  arose,  the  evil  stench 
that  pervades  a  huge  lodging-house  crammed  from 
cellar  to  attic  with  dirty,  sickly,  hungry,  besotted 
human  beings.  As  one  ascended  the  stairs,  the  fog 
became  denser,  and,  in  the  Weird  black  figure  on  the 
landing  it  was  as  though  it  had  taken  human  shape. 


12       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

From  the  street  came  distant  sounds  of  clattering 
droshkies  and  jingling  tramway-bells,  while  in  the 
courtyard  far  below  harsh,  angry  voices  could  be 
heard.  Yet  up  here  all  was  deadly  still.  Suddenly 
the  house-door  banged,  and  the  noise  re-echoed 
throughout  the  building.  Footsteps  could  be  heard. 
Some  one  was  coming  upstairs  at  a  great  rate,  hurrying 
round  each  landing,  and  taking  two  stairs  at  a  time. 
As  the  steps  reached  the  last  landing  and  a  figure  was 
about  to  dash  past  the  dim  window  the  man  outside 
the  door  suddenly  moved  towards  it. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  cried  the  newcomer  in  a  tone  that 
betrayed  more  than  mere  astonishment. 

"  Is  there  a  room  to  let,  here  ?  Perhaps  you  may 
know  ?  "  asked  the  man  at  the  door,  sharply  and 
decisively. 

"  Oh  !  a  room  ?  I  really  can't  say.  .  .  .  Yes,  I 
believe  there  is.     You'd  better  ring." 

"  I  have  done  so  already." 

"  Ah  !  but  here  we  have  a  special  way  of  ringing  ; 
like  this,  do  you  see  ?  " 

He  caught  hold  of  the  bell  and  tugged  at  it  with 
all  his  might.  No  faint  tinklings  now,  but  an  absolute 
scream  which  suddenly  ceased.  It  was  as  if  a  tin  pot 
full  of  peas  as  it  were  tumbling  down  the  stairs  had 
bumped  against  the  wall.  Then  there  was  a  rustling 
sound,  and  through  a  gap  in  the  opening  door  a 
streak  of  yellow  light  revealed  the  grey  head  of  an 
old  woman. 

"  Maximova,  here's  some  one  inquiring  about  your 
room,"  explained  the  newcomer,  a  gaunt,  lanky 
student.  Entering  first,  he  went  along  the  passage 
where  the  air  was  musty  and  damp  as  that  of  the 


SHEVIRIOF  13 

dirty  ante-room  of  some  bathing  establishment. 
Without  listening  to  what  the  old  woman  said,  he 
pushed  past  boxes  and  curtains  behind  which  some- 
thing stirred  and,  reaching  his  room,  disappeared. 
Not  until  he  had  put  off  his  things  and  stood  there  in 
his  peasant's  red  smock,  loose  at  the  neck  and  beltless, 
did  he  remember  the  new  lodger,  and  asked  the  old 
woman  as  she  brought  him  a  bubbling  samovar  : 

"  Well,  Maximova,  did  you  get  rid  of  your  room  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I've  let  it,  thank  God,  Sergei  Ivanovitch ; 
let  it  for  twelve  roubles.  I  think  he'll  be  a  quiet 
lodger." 

"  Why's  that  ?  " 

The  old  woman  looked  at  him  with  her  white, 
almost  sightless  eyes,  and,  pursing  her  shrivelled  lips, 
said,  "  I've  lived  in  this  world  for  sixty-five  years, 
Sergei  Ivanovitch,  and  have  seen  all  sorts  of  people. 
I've  become  blind  through  looking  at  them  all,"  she 
added  bitterly,  with  a  piteous  gesture. 

The  student  unconsciously  glanced  at  her  eyes  and 
was  about  to  speak,  yet  somehow  could  not.  When 
she  had  gone,  he  knocked  at  the  adjoining  door  and 
called  out : 

"  I  say,  neighbour,  won't  you  have  some  tea  ?  " 

"  With  pleasure,"  replied  the  shrill  voice. 

"  Then  just  come  over  here,  please." 

Seating  himself  at  the  table,  the  student  filled  two 
glasses  with  pale-coloured  tea,  got  the  sugar,  and 
turned  towards  the  door. 

A  thin,  fair  young  man  of  medium  height  entered. 
His  appearance  created  the  singular  impression  that 
he  was  continually  trying  to  add  to  his  height  by 
jerking  his  head  backwards. 


14       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  Nicolai  Sheviriof,"  he  said  in  a  hard,  clear  tone. 

"  Aladief,"  replied  the  other,  as  he  smiled  and 
shook  hands  with  his  guest.  It  was  done  quite  as  a 
peasant  would  do  it,  with  a  certain  uncouth  exaggera- 
tion of  friendliness.  Indeed,  he  looked  like  some 
simple  farm  hand,  some  carpenter  from  Pskof  or 
Novgorod,  with  his  bent  yet  sturdy  back,  drooping 
shoulders,  lanky  arms,  broad  hands,  and  long  nose, 
his  features  suggesting  the  profile  of  an  ikon  with 
thin  beard  and  hair  cropped  round  his  head. 

In  a  good-natured  deep  voice,  he  welcomed  the 
other. 

"  That's  right.  Sit  down,  and  we'll  have  some  tea 
and  a  chat." 

Sheviriof  did  so  quickly  and  resolutely,  but  his 
demeanour  remained  stiff  and  distant. 

His  grey  metallic  eyes  had  a  cold  impenetrable  look 
in  them.  Nor  did  he  show  a  trace  of  that  shy 
curiosity  which  overcomes  even  the  most  free-and- 
easy  persons  when  first  they  meet  an  utter  stranger. 
So  that  Aladief,  as  he  looked  at  him,  thought  that  this 
Sheviriof  would  never  under  any  circumstances  prove 
false  either  to  himself  or  to  the  certain  something 
hidden  deep  within  his  soul. 

"  The  fellow  interests  me,"  he  thought. 

"  Well,  and  so  you've  just  arrived,  eh  ? "  he 
asked. 

*'  Yes  ;   only  got  here  to-day  from  Helsingfors." 

"  And  Where's  your  luggage  ?  " 

"  Haven't  got  any  ;  only  just  a  bolster,  a  rug,  and 
a  few  books." 

At  these  last  words  Aladief  surveyed  his  guest  with 
special  curiosity  and  good  will. 


SHEVIRIOF  15 

"  And,  if  I  may  be  allowed  to  ask,  what  is  your 
employment  ?  " 

*'  Certainly,  you  may  ask.  I  am  a  workman  in  an 
iron-foundry.  I  came  here  to  get  work  as  the  place 
where  I  was  shut  up  shop." 

"  That  means  that  you're  out  of  work  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  replied  Sheviriof,  and  in  his  voice  there  was 
a  certain  strange  quality  of  tone. 

"  Just  at  the  moment  lots  of  men  are  out  of  work," 
said  Aladief,  sympathetically  ;  "  times  are  a  bit  hard 
for  you,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Times  are  always  hard,"  replied  Sheviriof,  in  a 
callous  way.  "  But  soon  those  will  be  having  a  hard 
time  of  it  who  are  now  at  their  ease,"  he  added, 
threateningly. 

Aladief  looked  curiously  at  him. 

"  Hullo  !  Hullo  !  "  he  thought,  "  there's  something 
wrong  about  this  fellow.  I  must  get  to  the  bottom 
of  it.     A  rum  sort  of  customer,  to  judge  by  his  face." 

Sheviriof  noticed  the  singular  expression  in  the 
shrewd  peasant  eyes  of  his  host,  who,  glancing  fur- 
tively at  him,  looked  down  at  his  glass. 

"  No  doubt  you're  a  student  ?  Perhaps  you  write 
as  well,  eh  ?  "  he  asked,  quickly. 

Aladief  blushed  slightly.  ^ 

"  What  makes  you  think  so  ?  I  mean — ^think  that 
I  write  ?  " 

Sheviriof  smiled  suddenly,  and  the  smile  was  far 
more  kindly  than  his  self-conscious  mien  would  have 
led  one  to  expect. 

"  Easy  enough  to  guess  that,"  he  explained.  "  On 
the  walls  you've  got  portraits  of  poets  ;  there  are 
heaps  of  books  on  the  shelves ;    manuscripts  on  the 


16       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

table,  and  sheets  of  paper,  torn  and  crumpled,  under 
the  table.     So  that's  how  I  knew." 

Aladief  laughed  outright,  yet  all  the  same  he 
scanned  the  other  more  closelv,  after  the  manner  of  a 
yokel  who  meant  to  be  very  cunning. 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course,"  he  said.  "  Anyhow,  I  can 
see  that  you  notice  things  pretty  closely." 

Sheviriof  was  silent. 

Aladief  lit  a  big  cigarette,  watching  his  guest 
attentively  through  the  smoke  of  it. 

Sitting  bolt  upright,  Sheviriof  kept  continually 
twiddling  his  thumbs.  In  his  outward  appearance 
there  was  something  quite  different  from  the  thousand 
faces  one  meets  daily.  It  was  this  difference  that 
Aladief's  little  plebeian  eyes  had  instantly  detected ; 
a  suggestion  of  something  strangely  determined  and 
deliberate.  He  had  even  remarked  the  contrast 
between  the  stony  immobility  of  Sheviriof's  whole 
body  and  the  almost  imperceptible  yet  singularly 
rapid  twitching  of  his  thumbs  ;  and,  the  more  he 
noticed  this,  the  keener  became  his  suspicions,  while 
a  sense  of  unconscious  sympathy  and  instinctive  awe 
for  this  stranger  grew  deeper  within  him. 

He  screwed  up  his  eyes,  as  if  on  account  of  the 
tobacco-smoke,  and  said  with  seeming  indifference, 
yet  with  covert  intention  : 

"  The  gift  of  observation  is  a  rare  one. 

Sheviriof  did  not  immediately  reply  ;  his  thumbs 
merely  twitched  quicker  than  before.  It  seemed  as 
if  he  did  not  want  to  answer,  yet  after  a  short  pause, 
he  suddenly  jerked  his  head  backwards,  stared  coldly 
at  Aladief,  and  as  his  lip  curled  slightly  said  : 

'*  I  see  what  you  mean." 


>» 


SHEVIRIOF  17 

"  Eh  ?  What  ?  "  asked  Aladief,  with  involuntary 
confusion. 

"  You're  tryi^jg  to  find  out  if  I'm  a  detective.  I'm 
not,  so  don't  be  alarmed.  Why  should  I  be  ?  I 
nevef  forced  you  to  tell  me  things  and  it  wasn't  of 
my  own  accord  that  I  came  to  you." 

"  Whatever  makes  you  imagine  that  ?  "  exclaimed 
Aladief  hotly,  as  he  flushed  up. 

Sheviriof  smiled  again.  When  he  smiled,  there  was 
no  doubt  that  his  countenance  became  completely 
changed.     Its  expression  grew  gentle,  almost  tender. 

"  Well,  why  shouldn't  I  ?  It's  plain  enough. 
But,  if  I  had  been  a  detective,  I  should  have  known 
at  once  by  your  questions  that  you  had  some  grounds 
for  being  afraid." 

Aladief  looked  at  him  for  a  minute  in  utter  amaze- 
ment, then  stroking  his  neck,  he  smiled,  and  made  a 
deprecating  gesture. 

"  Ah  !  well,  perhaps  you're  right.  It  was  my  fault, 
no  doubt.  You  know  how  things  are  just  now.  But 
I  haven't  got  anything  to  hide." 

"  I  spoke  of  being  afraid,  but  you  speak  of  hiding. 
So  that  you  have  got  something." 

Sheviriof  smiled. 

Aladief  opened  his  eyes  wide  and  reflected. 

"  Yes,"  he  drawled.  "  But  still,  you  won't  mind 
my  saying  that  you  would  make  a  splendid  detective. 
One  of  the  psychological  sort,  yoM  know." 

"  Very  likely,"  replied  Sheviriof  gravely,  though  it 
was  plain  that  he  did  not  relish  the  remark.  "  And 
what  sort  of  things  do  you  write  ?  "  he  asked,  evidently 
attempting  to  give  a  turn  to  the  talk. 

Aladief  reddened  as  if  he  had  been  caught  in  the  act. 

B 


18       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  Well,  you  see,  I'm  only  a  beginner,  as  yet.  Two 
of  my  stories  are  already  in  print.  Not  bad,  for  a 
start.     They  were  well  reviewed,  too." 

He  added  these  last  words  without  looking  up,  and 
with  apparent  nonchalance,  yet  involuntarily  his 
voice  plainly  betrayed  a  certain  pride  and  pleasure. 

"  Yes,  I  know.  I've  read  them.  At  first  I  didn't 
recollect,  but  now  I  remember  your  name.  You 
Vrite  tales  about  peasant  life.  Yes,  I  remember 
them." 

For  a  while  host  and  guest  remained  silent. 
Sheviriof  stared  at  his  glass,  and  then  the  fingers  of 
the  hand  resting  on  his  knee  twitched  almost  imper- 
ceptibly. Aladief  was  evidently  excited.  He  longed 
to  ask  Sheviriof  how  he  liked  the  tales.  He  felt 
thoroughly  convinced  that  what  he  wrote  was  not  for 
the  educated  public,  but  merely  for  workmen  and 
peasant-folk.  Once  or  twice  his  lips  moved  as  if  he 
were  about  to  speak,  yet  somehow  he  could  not  bring 
himself  to  do  so.  Then  he  lighted  a  cigarette, 
blinked  his  eyes  and  watched  the  flaming  match 
intently.  Then,  before  he  began  to  smoke,  he  asked 
with  a  show  of  indifference  : 

"  Well,  and  how  did  you  like  my  stuff  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  all  right  enough,"  replied  Sheviriof.  "  Most 
convincing,  I  thought.     Spicy,  too." 

Aladief  blushed,  and  vainly  strove  to  suppress  a 
bright,  childlike  smile. 

"  Only  you're  apt  to  idealize  your  characters  too 
much,"  added  Sheviriof. 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  "  asked  the  other,  eagerly. 

"  If  I  am  not  mistaken,  you  start  with  the  theory 
that,  given  sane  intelligence  and  clear  judgment,  there 


SHEVIRIOF  19 

is  no  such  thing  as  a  bad  man.  Only  external 
conditions,  outside  influences  that  must  be  removed, 
are  what  hinder  men  from  being  good.  I  cannot 
believe  that.  Man  is  perverse  by  nature.  On  the 
contrary,  I  think  that  it  is  just  unfavourable  condi- 
tions which  help  some,  but  only  a  few,  to  become 
good  men." 

Aladief  was  indignant.  This  was  his  pet  theory, 
the  sum  and  substance  of  all  his  past  and  future 
literary  work.  He  believed  in  it  implicitly,  and  asked 
for  no  proof,  just  as  some  peasant  believes  in  God. 

"  What's  that  you  say  ?  "  he  exclaimed. 

"  That  is  my  opinion,"  replied  Sheviriof  in  a  tone 
of  inflexible  conviction,  "  I  am  a  working  man,  and 
I  know." 

The  touch  of  suppressed  bitterness  in  his  voice 
grieved  Aladief,  who  said  : 

"  Perhaps  you've  had  a  rough  time  of  it  in  the  past, 
and  that  has  embittered  you.  It's  impossible  that 
you  should  believe  that,  as  you  say  you  do.  It  looks 
as  if,  excuse  my  saying  so,  as  if  you  were  a  man- 
hater." 

"  I'm  not  afraid  of  the  word,"  replied  the  other 
coldly.  "  In  fact,  I  do  hate  mankind,  but  what  you 
think  comes  from  bitterness,  /  think  comes  from 
experience,  or  the  ability  to  see  the  truth  which 
human  beings  obstinately  endeavour  to  hide  from 
their  sight." 

"  And,  in  your  opinion,  what  is  this  truth  ?  " 

"  That  which  must  be  suppressed,  so  that  one  man 
may  be  enabled  to  live  at  the  expense  of  another,  the 
truth  being  that  all  human  desires  are  but  the  instincts 
of  a  wild  beast." 


20       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  How  can  you  say  such  a  thing  !  All  !  "  exclaimed 
Aladief,  indignantly.  "  What  about  love,  and  self- 
sacrifice,  and  compassion  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  in  them.  They  merely  form  a 
cloak  to  cover  the  hideous  nakedness  and  to  check 
the  rapacious  instincts  that  make  every  life  im- 
possible. They  are  but  a  product  of  human  ideas  ; 
they  were  never  inherent  in  human  nature.  If  love 
(of  course  I  don't  mean  the  sexual  sort)  and  com- 
passion and  self-sacrifice  were  really  instinctive  in  us, 
like  the  robber-instinct,  we  should  by  now  have  in 
place  of  Capital  a  Christian  Republic.  Those  who 
were  well-fed  could  never  bear  to  see  others  starve 
and  die  ;  there  would  be  no  masters  and  no  servants, 
for  all  would  make  mutual  sacrifices,  and  all  men 
would  be  equal.     But  we've  not  got  that." 

Aladief  rose  in  great  excitement  and  strode  heavily 
up  and  down  the  room  as  if  he  were  walking  over 
furrows  newly  cut  by  the  plough. 

"  In  mankind  there  are  two  principles,  the  godlike 
and  the  devilish,  to  use  the  terms  employed  by  our 
mystics.  Progress  is  simply  a  conflict  between  these 
two  principles,  and  not,  as  you " 

"  What  I  say  is  this,  that  if  these  two  principles  in 
their  essential  form  were  existent  in  human  nature  in 
equal  proportions,  life  could  not  be  as  horrible  as  it 
is  now.  But  there  is  nothing  of  the  sort.  The  fight 
for  existence  has  invented  these  catchwords,  just  as 
it  has  invented  such  words  as  locomotives,  telephones, 
or  medicine." 

"  Good.  Let  us  admit  that.  Consequently,  man 
is  capable  of  influencing  the  spiritual  part  of  him. 
Why,    then,    can   you   not   believe   in   the   ultimate 


SHEVIRIOF  21 

triumph  of  these  principles  over  the  robber-instinct  ? 
Ideals  are  slow  to  penetrate  life,  yet  their  influence  is 
sure,  and  when  they  have  triumphed,  and  have  made 

the  rights  of  all 'men  equal " 

"  They'll  never  do  that,"  replied  Sheviriof  coldly. 
"  In  equal  proportion  with  such  progress  the  com- 
plexities of  life  will  increase.  The  fight  for  existence 
is  an  eternal  law  which  will  not  cease  until  life  itself 


ceases." 


"  Then,  you  don't  believe  that  there  may  be  better 
forms  or  systems  of  life  ?  " 

"  New,  yes  ;   but  better,  no." 

"  Why  do  you  think  that  ?  " 

"  Man  is  not  happy  or  unhappy  because  of  the 
good  or  the  evil  that  befalls  him,  but  because  of  his 
inborn  capacity  for  pleasure  or  for  pain.  If  a  man  of 
the  period  of  the  Stone  Age  could  have  viewed  our 
actual  world  in  a  dream,  it  would  have  seemed  to 
him  as  an  earthly  paradise.  We  are  now  experiencing 
that  which  was  his  dream,  and  yet  are  just  as  unhappy, 
jf  not  more  so,  than  he.  I  don't  believe  in  any  Age 
of  Gold." 

"  Look  here,"  said  Aladief,  shivering  involuntarily, 
"  such  unbelief  as  yours  is  devilish.  Excuse  me,  but 
I  can't  imagine  that  you  really  think  so." 

"  Sorry  for  that,"  replied  Sheviriof,  with  a  chilly 
smile. 

"  Well,  I  never  !     How  shocking  !  " 

"  I  never  said  that  it  was  pleasant." 

Aladief  was  silent,  and  surveyed  his  guest  with 
genuine  compassion.  He  now  knew  how  to  account 
for  that  cold  clear  glance  and  that  deadly  calm.  In 
this   man's   soul   all   was   barren   and   dark,   though 


22       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

possibly  intense  disgust  and  implacable  revenge 
lurked  there  also. 

Sheviriof's  fingers  twitched  more  rapidly ;  then 
suddenly  he  rose. 

"  Au  revoir,"  he  said.  "  I  am  tired  after  my 
journey,  and  I  don't  often  talk  so  much." 

Aladief  pensively  grasped  his  hand.  As  Sheviriof 
opened  the  door,  he  said  hastily  : 

"  I  say,  are  you  really  a  working  man  ?  " 

Sheviriof  smiled.  "  Why  should  it  surprise  you  ? 
Of  course,  I  am." 

Then  he  went  out,  shutting  the  door  firmly  behind 
him. 

For  a  long  time  Aladief  walked  up  and  down  his 
room,  smoking,  and  mentally  prolonging  the  discus- 
sion. Now  that  his  opponent  was  silent,  his  own 
arguments  appeared  to  him  incontrovertible.  By 
degrees  he  fell  into  a  dreamy  state,  and  a  vision,  hazy 
yet  radiant,  of  life  in  the  future  rose  up  before  him ; 
a  panorama  of  fields  and  forests  and  hamlets,  grey, 
sad,  and  poverty-stricken.  Aladief  wished  to  write 
something  powerful,  and  to  express  at  a  stroke  that 
which  for  him  was  at  once  a  torment  and  a  joy.  Yet 
the  sense  of  his  own  impotence  robbed  his  soul  of  its 
wings. 

"  Shall  I  ever  do  it  ?  " 

He  sighed  deeply  and  then,  with  a  certain  humility 
which  seemed  to  ease  his  heart,  he  thought : 

"  Well,  no  matter  ;  if  not  I,  then  another.  I  will 
do  my  part." 

For  awhile  he  stood  gazing  abstractedly  at  a 
portrait  of  Tolstoy  that  with  keen,  searching  glance 
looked  down  at  him  from  the  wall. 


SHEVIRIOF  23 

Then  he  placed  cigarettes  and  a  lamp  upon  the 
writing-table  which  was  covered  with  newspapers, 
stretched  his  limbs  and  sat  down. 

There  he  remained,  almost  till  morning,  writing 
incessantly. 

With  great  fervour  he  told  how  peasants  for  their 
convictions  were  condemned  to  die  ;  a  simple  narra- 
tive with  no  waste  of  words,  nor  any  attempt  to  extol 
the  heroism  of  those  who  faced  their  doom  calmly, 
collectedly,  as  if  they  knew  something  that  from 
others  was  concealed.  The  cigarette-smoke  slowly 
floated  in  dense  clouds  above  the  lamp,  and  was  lost 
in  the  gloom.  In  the  house  all  was  silent,  and  the 
black  night  peered  in  through  the  window-panes. 
One  could  scarcely  believe  that  such  deadly  darkness 
was  only  an  illusion,  and  that  somewhere,  behind  the 
houses  and  the  roofs,  in  the  broad  streets  thousands  of 
brilliant  lights  blazed  where  crowds  of  hurrying, 
chattering  mortals  surged  and  swayed,  where  res- 
taurants stood  open,  where  naked  shoulders  gleamed 
in  the  dance,  and  lovely  voices  echoed  in  the  theatres, 
as  human  beings  talked,  and  made  love,  or  strove  to 
live,  and  to  get  all  they  could  from  life. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  wall,  motionless,  upon  a 
hard  bed,  lay  Sheviriof,  his  cold,  wide-opened  eyes 
gazing  steadily  at  the  gloom. 


CHAPTER  II 

The  sole  window  in  Sheviriof  s  room  looked  on  to 
a  wall,  beyond  which  a  thin  strip  of  grey  sky,  barred 
by  grimy  chimney-pots,  could  be  seen.  The  room 
had  a  strange  look.  Its  bare  walls  gave  it  a  cold, 
almost  a  glaring,  appearance.  There  was  not  a  speck 
of  dust  on  the  floor,  nor  a  single  book  lying  on  the 
table,  and,  if  Sheviriof  had  not  been  in  this  room 
himself,  who,  foolishly  enough,  was  not  seated  at 
the  window  or  near  the  table,  but  in  front  of  the 
closed  door  leading  to  the  next  room,  one  would 
never  have  thought  that  anybody  lived  in  it. 

There,  motionless  and  bolt  upright,  drumming  on 
his  knees  with  his  fingers,  he  sat  with  his  back  to  the 
door  on  the  only  chair  in  the  room.  His  eyes  had 
a  vacant  expression  in  them,  as  if  he  were  mechanically 
examining  his  bedstead,  but  as  at  every  sound  he 
moved  slightly,  almost  imperceptibly,  one  could  see 
that  he  was  listening  intently  to  all  that  was  going 
on  in  the  house.  First  of  all,  he  heard  Aladief  drink- 
ing tea,  and  afterwards  going  out.  Then  he  listened 
to  remoter  sounds  that  gave  him  faint  signs  of  the 
grey  life  around  him. 

Behind  the  door  against  which  he  was  sitting  lived, 
as  he  had  already  discovered,  a  sempstress,  young, 
simple,  and  somewhat  deaf. 


SHEVIRIOF  25 

This  he  had  guessed  by  the  sound  of  her  fresh 
voice,  the  gentle  cHck  of  the  sewing-machine,  the 
motherly  way  in  which  the  old  landlady  grumbled 
to  her  about  something  or  other,  and  the  perpetual 
query  in  a  timid,  pathetic  tone,  "  What  ?  " 

Further  along  the  corridor,  behind  the  curtain,  two 
old  persons  were  rummaging  about  in  a  heap  of  rags 
like  worms  in  carrion,  whispering  to  each  other  mean- 
while. On  one  occasion  the  landlady,  a  gaunt  old 
woman  with  sad,  lustreless  eyes,  came  in  to  see 
Sheviriof.  \Vlien  he  gave  her  the  rent,  she  looked  at 
the  money  for  a  long  while  and  touched  it  with  her 
skinny  fingers. 

"  I've  gone  blind,"  she  said  in  a  sad,  calm  tone. 
Afterwards  Sheviriof  could  hear  how  she  was  showing 
the  money  to  the  little  sempstress,  who,  speaking  in 
a  loud,  clear  voice,  like  all  deaf  persons,  who  do  not 
think  that  they  are  heard,  replied  : 

"  It's  quite  right,  quite  right,  Maximova  !  " 

Thus,  for  almost  three  hours,  Sheviriof  sat  in  that 
position,  without  moving  once ;  only  his  fingers 
twitched  faster  and  faster.  Attentively  and  gravely 
he  sought  for  some  reason  to  catch  all  these  colourless 
sounds,  that  without  words  told  how  poor  and 
wretched  human  life  can  be. 

Then  he  quickly  rose,  dressed,  and  went  out. 


CHAPTER  III 

Sheviriof  stood  in  the  factory-yard  and  looked 
through  the  huge  window  at  the  machinery  room 
where  everything  buzzed  and  whirred,  while  the 
window-panes  rattled  also.  The  adjacent  windows 
probably  let  in  a  good  deal  of  light,  but,  looking  in 
from  the  courtyard  with  its  lofty  dome  of  shining 
sky,  all  inside  appeared  to  be  immersed  in  perpetual 
gloom.  One  could  see  how  chains  slid  up  and  down 
in  ghostly  fashion,  fly-wheels,  impetuous  yet  appa- 
rently noiseless,  whirred  to  and  fro,  and  countless 
leathern  straps  darted  into  the  darkness.  Every- 
thing was  revolving,  whirling,  twisting  at  a  tremendous 
rate,  yet  in  all  this  commotion  human  beings  were 
scarcely  visible.  Now  and  again  among  these  black, 
gleaming,  metal  monsters  some  human  face,  with 
eyes  like  those  of  a  corpse,  appeared  and  then  in- 
stantly vanished  in  the  turbulent  dusk,  where  the 
dull  roar  of  machinery,  awful  in  its  monotony,  seemed 
ever  to  increase,  and  the  dusty  window-panes  made 
everything  look  dull  grey  and  colourless  in  tone,  as 
in  the  canvas  of  some  gigantic  kinematograph. 

Close  to  the  window,  against  this  background,  a 
little  machine  of  exquisitely  delicate  proportions 
swiftly  revolved.  It  was  made  of  steel  and  iron, 
and  fine  splinters  of  gold  fell  from  its  sharp  little 


SHEVIRIOF  27 

teeth  into  a  brass  basin.  Above  it  rocked  a  bent 
human  back,  as  large  grimy  hands  moved  to  and 
fro.  The  rocking  was  rhythmic  and  monotonous  ; 
one  noticed  how  such  motion  became  blended  with 
that  of  the  little  machine. 

It  was  just  on  this  marvellous  little  thing  that 
Sheviriof's  observant  eyes  were  fixed.  Behind  exactly 
such  a  lathe  as  this  he  had  once  stood  in  bygone 
days,  full  of  hopes  that  could  never  be  realized. 
Five  long  years,  every  day  from  morn  till  night,  had 
he  stood  there,  well  or  ill,  sad  or  glad,  in  love,  or 
tormented  by  anxious  thoughts. 

Anyone  who  could  have  looked  into  Sheviriof's 
eyes  at  this  moment  would  have  been  amazed  at 
their  strange  expression.  They  were  not  cold  and 
clear  now,  but  showed  a  certain  tenderness,  though 
a  flash  of  implacable  hatred  was  there,  as  well.  His 
lips  meanwhile  were  quivering.  Did  he  smile  ?  Or 
was  he  muttering  to  himself  ? 

For  a  long  time  he  stood  thus,  and  then  turned 
sharply  on  his  heel,  as  at  the  word  of  command,  and 
walked  firmly  away. 

"  Where  is  the  office  ? "  he  asked  of  the  first 
workman  that  he  met. 

"  Over  there  ;  the  second  door,"  replied  the  man, 
and  he  stopped.  "  Do  you  want  to  put  your  name 
down  ?  They're  not  engaging  anybody,"  he  added 
half-sympathetically,  yet  still  with  a  touch  of  malice, 
as  he  smiled,  revealing  behind  thin  bluish  lips  large 
hungry  teeth,  white  as  a  negro's. 

Sheviriof  looked  him  full  in  the  face,  as  if  to  say, 
"  I  knew  that  already."  Opening  the  office  door, 
he  walked  in.     About  ten  men  were  waiting  inside, 


28       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

seated  under  the  two  long  whitewashed  windows. 
Against  this  white  background,  one  could  only  see 
black  shadows,  and  a  bluish  ray  of  light  gleamed  on 
some  bald  head  among  them,  as  on  a  human  skull. 
Devoid  of  eyes  or  expression,  the  shadows  turned  to 
Sheviriof,  and  then  resumed  their  wonted  attitude 
of  waiting.     He  remained  standing  at  the  door. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  At  last  the  inner  door 
opened,  and  a  fat,  short-necked  man  hurried  into 
the  office.  "  Nikoforof,  where's  the  punishment- 
list  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  consequential  tone.  The  clerk 
threw  down  his  pen  and  began  searching  among  a 
pile  of  blue  books.  Simultaneously  the  dark  shadows 
that  at  the  manager's  entrance  had  risen,  all  crowded 
round  him,  and  shabby  jackets,  ragged  caps,  muddy 
boots,  haggard  faces  with  hungry  eyes,  and  lank, 
sinewy  arms,  came  into  the  light. 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  cried  several  hoarse  voices  in 
unison. 

The  fat  man,  evidently  irritated,  rudely  snatched 
the  book  from  the  clerk's  hand,  and  turned  towards 
them. 

"  There  you  are  again,"  he  shouted.  "  Can't  you 
see  what's  on  the  notice-board  outside,  eh  ?  " 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  to  explain,"  said  an  old 
man,  advancing,  as  he  tried  to  soothe  the  manager. 

"  What  is  there  to  explain  ?  There's  no  work,  and 
there's  an  end  of  it,  so  that's  soon  settled,  eh,  what  ?  " 

For  a  moment  all  were  silent,  as  if  astounded,  and 
then  the  old  man  began,  with  tears  in  his  trembling 
voice,  "  Yes,  we  knew  that,  sir,  and,  of  course,  if  there's 
no  work  it  can't  be  helped,  but  we  can't  stand  it 
any  longer ;  we  are  starving.     If  we  could  only  speak 


SHEVIRIOF  29 

to  the  engineer,  Mr.  Pustovoitof.  .  .  .  You  promised 
us  last  time  that  you  would  see  if  .  .  ."  His  shining, 
hungry  eyes  were  fixed  on  the  master,  timidly, 
imploringly. 

"  No,"  shouted  the  other  angrily,  cutting  him 
short. 

"  Feodor  Karlevitch,"  pleaded  the  old  man,  as  if 
he  had  heard  nothing. 

"  I  have  told  you  a  hundred  times " — with  a 
strongly  marked  German  accent,  till  now  not  so 
noticeable — "  that  the  engineer  has  nothing  what- 
ever to  do  with  it  !  " 

"  But  the  gentleman " 

"  He  is  not  in  the  factory  at  present,"  retorted  the 
German,  turning  aside. 

"  How  can  that  be,  for  the  gentleman's  carriage 
is  standing  at  the  door,"  exclaimed  one  of  the  little 
crowd  of  men. 

The  manager  glared  at  the  speaker,  with  fury  in 
his  face. 

"  Is  it !  Then  let  it  stand  then  !  All  the  better 
for  you  !  "  he  added  mockingly,  as  he  again  moved 
towards  the  door. 

"  Feodor  Karlevitch,"  cried  the  old  man  hastily, 
with  a  movement  as  if  to  pursue  him.  The  German 
for  a  moment  surveyed  the  old  fellow's  bald  pate. 

"  You  of  all  people,"  he  said  slowly  and  with  malice, 
"  need  not  come  here.  What  sort  of  a  workman  are 
you  ?  " 

"  Feodor  Karlevitch,"  exclaimed  the  other  m 
despair,  "  do  have  pity !  I  am  not  ...  I  have 
always  behaved  myself  properly." 

"  That's  an  old  story,"  replied  the  manager  coolly. 


80       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  You  have  simply  grown  old,  my  boy.  It's  time 
you  had  a  rest.  You  had  better  not  come  here  any 
more.     It's  no  use." 

He  grasped  the  handle  of  the  door. 

"  Oh,  for  pity's  sake,  do,  for  I  am  still  .  .  ." 

But  the  door  closed  with  a  bang,  and  the  old 
man's  words  rebounded  from  the  yellow,  mocking 
wall.  With  a  despairing  gesture  he  turned  round, 
as  if  to  say,  "  Well,  well,  what's  to  become  of  me 
now  ?  " 

Suddenly  all  the  men  clapped  their  caps  on  their 
heads  and  began  to  go  out.  But  they  did  not  sepa- 
rate, and  hke  a  little  flock  of  sheep,  crowded  round 
the  entrance.  Very  likely  many  of  them  had  no 
place  to  which  they  could  go,  so  they  aimlessly  and 
in  hopeless  confusion  stood  looking  at  their  feet. 
One  of  them  tried  to  light  a  cigarette,  while  the 
others  watched  him.  Being  broken,  it  would  not 
light. 

"  Don't  stand  in  the  draught  like  that,"  said  one 
of  his  comrades. 

"  Oh,  blast  the  thing !  "  cried  the  smoker,  as  he 
flung  the  cigarette  against  the  wall,  and  stood  there 
as  if  he  did  not  know  what  he  should  do  next. 

"  Look  here,  what  is  going  to  happen  to  us  all  ? 
For  three  days  I  have  had  nothing  to  eat,"  muttered 
a  pale  youth,  smiling  unconsciously,  as  though  he 
expected  applause  for  some  excellent  joke. 

"  And  you  won't  get  anything  to  eat  on  the  fourth, 
either,"  rejoined  the  would-be  smoker. 

At  this  moment  a  stout,  fair  gentleman  with  an 
upturned  bushy  moustache  came  jauntily  out  of 
another  entrance.     At  his  appearance  a  thrill  passed 


SHEVIRIOF  31 

through  the  Httle  group  of  workmen.  They  advanced 
nervously  and  then  suddenly  stood  still.  Only  the 
old  man  pulled  pff  his  cap,  displaying  his  dirty  bald 
head. 

A  slight  shadow  crossed  the  composed  features  of 
the  engineer.  He  seemed  as  if  about  to  say  some- 
thing, but  only  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  with 
a  reproachful,  upward  glance,  exclaimed  angrily, 
"  Stepan,  come  along  !     Where  the  devil  are  you  ?  " 

The  fat  coachman,  with  a  watch  at  his  waist,  drove 
up  to  the  entrance.  The  engineer  promptly  jumped 
into  the  carriage  and  sat  down  on  the  leathern 
cushions,  and  the  carriage  soon  disappeared  beyond 
the  main  entrance  of  the  factory.  The  workmen 
swiftly  separated. 

Sheviriof  was  the  last  to  go.  He  thrust  his  hands 
in  his  pockets,  stretched  himself,  flung  his  head  in 
the  air  and  walked  quickly  down  the  street.  In  this 
hmpid  autumn  light  the  large  town  seemed  more 
chilly  and  dirty  than  usual.  The  long,  straight, 
damp  streets  were  lost  in  opal  mist,  and  far  away 
in  the  distance,  where  houses,  lamps,  men,  and  horses 
were  all  blended  in  the  blue  dusk,  the  slender  gilded 
spire  of  the  Admiralty  gleamed  fantastic  in  the 
gloom. 


CHAPTER  IV 

In  the  tavern  where  Sheviriof  got  his  midday  meal, 
there  was  great  noise  and  commotion.  There  was 
a  stale  smell  of  tobacco,  sweat  and  cooking,  and  the 
atmosphere  was  so  dense  that  human  beings  were 
lost  in  it  as  in  some  mist  from  a  marsh.  Sheviriof 
sat  behind  a  window,  before  which  human  legs  ran 
hither  and  thither  without  ceasing,  and  with  elbows 
propped  on  the  greasy  tablecloth,  he  stared  vacantly 
across  at  the  other  rooms,  where,  like  shadows  in  the 
smoke,  men  were  playing  billiards  on  a  rickety  old 
table.  He  could  hear  the  click  of  the  balls,  and  oaths 
and  laughter.  At  an  adjoining  table  sat  a  merry 
group  of  cobblers'  apprentices.  One  of  them,  a  lean, 
devil-may-care  sort  of  lad,  with  a  ring  in  his  ear, 
was  providing  the  others  with  amusement  by  chaffing 
a  simpleton  of  the  peasant  type,  who  was  staring  at 
him  with  round,  foolish  eyes.  The  former  was 
lying  to  him  with  infinite  zest,  being  at  times 
hardly  able  to  contain  himself  for  merriment,  when 
he  would  slap  his  knee,  and  exclaim  to  his  audience 
delightedly  : 

"  My  word,  what  a  fool  he  is,  little  brother  !  I 
am  telling  him  all  sorts  of  lies,  and  he  swallows 
everything  !  " 

The   little   peasant    smiled    sheepishly,    making   a 


SHEVIRIOF  33 

faint  gesture  of  protest,   but  the  lad  with  the  ear- 
ring began  again  in  solemn  tone  : 

"  Ah,  but  when  I  was  living  at  Pensa  ..."  The 
little  peasant  craned  forward  and  stared  again  at 
the  n§irrator.  The  door  creaked  continually,  letting 
in  with  the  mist  a  succession  of  new  customers,  whose 
curses  one  could  hear  while  they  were  still  on  the 
threshold.  The  atmosphere  at  each  moment  grew 
more  dense,  and  the  noise,  the  stench,  the  smoke, 
and  the  wrangling,  cursing  human  beings  all  served 
to  produce  a  sort  of  hideous,  fetid  nightmare. 

A  man  now  seated  himself  at  Sheviriof's  table. 
He  was  dark  and  lean,  with  a  long  throat,  and  his 
features  seemed  almost  distorted.  He  was  evidently 
in  a  state  of  dreadful  excitement.  First  he  propped 
his  head  on  his  hands,  then  he  glanced  round,  or 
twisted  about  in  his  chair,  searching  for  something 
in  all  his  pockets,  which  apparently  he  could  not 
find.  At  times  he  glanced  at  Sheviriof  and  appeared 
anxious  to  address  him,  yet  hesitated  to  do  so. 
Sheviriof  had  noticed  this,  and  his  cold  glance  was 
not  encouraging.  At  last,  after  a  particularly  brilliant 
sally  on  the  part  of  the  youth  of  the  earring,  the 
long-necked  man  pointed  smilingly  to  the  lad,  and 
said  to  Sheviriof : 

"  I  expect  he  is  another  of  'em  out  of  work." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Sheviriof  curtly. 

The  long-necked  man,  as  if  he  had  waited  for 
this  opening,  turned  resolutely  to  Sheviriof  and 
said  : 

"  You're  one  of  us,  mate,  aren't  you  ?  A  workman, 
eh?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Sheviriof  in  the  same  tone. 

c 


34       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

The  other's  body  quivered  as  he  continued  : 

"  I  say,  I've  only  been  here  three  days,  and  I'd 
hke  to  ask  you  if  you  could  tell  me  where  I  could 
get  work.     I  am  a  locksmith  by  trade." 

His  eyes  looked  imploringly  at  the  other,  while 
his  features  wore  the  same  distorted  expression. 

For  a  time  Sheviriof  remained  silent. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  replied.  "  I  am  out  of  work 
myself.  There's  no  work  to  be  got.  Nothing  doing. 
There  are  tens  of  thousands  out  of  work  in  this 
place." 

The  expression  on  the  man's  face  changed  to  one 
of  utter  despair.  He  leaned  back  in  his  chair  with 
mouth  half-open,  and  flung  out  his  arms  with  a 
helpless  gesture. 

"  Why  did  you  come  here  ? "  asked  Sheviriof 
suddenly,  almost  angrily.  "  Had  you  no  notion  that 
we  were  all  starving  here  ?  You  had  better  have 
stopped  where  you  were." 

The  man  repeated  his  gesture  of  despair. 

"  I  couldn't.     They  had  got  me  on  the  black  list." 

"  Why  was  that  ?  "  asked  Sheviriof  dryly. 

"  Because  of  the  strike.  I  was  on  the  committee. 
At  the  time  they  didn't  dare  to  touch  us,  but  when 
things  got  a  bit  quiet,  they  determined  to  clear  us 
out,  and  out  we  had  to  go." 

"  Where  did  you  work  ?  " 

"  In  the  mines.     I  went  as  a  locksmith." 

"  You  were  on  the  committee  ?  Then  why  didn't 
the  other  members  try  to  get  you  off  ?  " 

Sheviriof  spoke  in  a  harsh  voice,  yet  all  the  while 
he  was  listening  attentively  to  the  latest  lie  of  the 
boy  with  the  earring. 


SHEVIRIOF  35 

"  How  could  they  possibly  get  me  off  ?  "  said  the 
other  in  amazement.  "  They  fetched  up  three  com- 
panies of  soldiers  and  the  machine-gun.  That  settled 
it."  ' 

"  Did  it  never  occur  to  you  that  it  must  end  like 
that  ?  " 

"  Well,  of  course,  at  the  time  I  knew  that  it  would." 

"  Then  why  did  you  have  anything  to  do  with 
it?" 

"  Why  ?  Well,  you  see,  the  others  put  me  on  the 
committee." 

"  You  might  have  refused,"  replied  Sheviriof. 

"  How  could  I  ?  All  the  others  held  out,  and  I 
had  to  do  what  they  did." 

"  But  when  the  machine-gun  came,  they  all  caved 
in." 

"  Ah,  but  that's  different !  To  die  like  that  is 
not  so  easy  for  chaps  who  have  got  wives  and 
children." 

"  You're  not  married,  are  you  ?  " 

The  locksmith  started  and  looked  down.  Then 
rubbing  his  forehead,  he  muttered  : 

"  I've  got  a  mother."  Then  he  was  silent  and 
looked  away,  being  apparently  interested  in  what 
the  facetious  youth  with  the  earring  was  saying. 

"  And  then  the  engineer  wanted  to  give  me  his 
daughter  as  my  wife  ;   but  I  said,  '  No,  thank  you.'  " 

"  What  for  ?  "  asked  the  little  peasant  sympa- 
thetically, though  with  some  sign  of  disbelief. 

"  Because,  my  boy,  I  am  a  workman  and  a  man 
of  the  people,  and  she  an  aristocrat.  Of  course  I 
liked  her  well  enough  ;  in  fact,  I  liked  her  very  much, 
but  I  didn't  seem  to  want  her  given  to  me  like  that. 


36       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

When  we  said  good-bye,  she  brought  me  some  cham- 
pagne herself,  and  said,  '  I  esteem  you  most  highly, 
Jelisar  Ivanitch,  and  I  shall  always  remember  you.' 
Yes,  and  she  gave  me  a  gold  ring,  too,  she  did." 

"  Well  ?  "  said  the  peasant,  edging  up  to  him. 

"  Well,  I've  got  the  ring  still.  I  pawned  it  for 
five  roubles.  Just  at  present  I  am  broke,  but  later 
on  I  shall  get  it  out  and  wear  it.  One  ought  to, 
don't  you  know,  as  it's  a  keepsake."  Then,  turning 
to  his  audience,  he  continued,  "  I  say,  boys,  when  I 
was  working  at  Pensa,  in  that  English  factory,  Morris 
Brothers  was  the  name  of  the  firm,  I  say  we  did 
have  a  good  old  time  !  No  punishments,  full  pay 
when  on  the  sick  list,  and  furnished  houses  built  of 
stone  for  all  the  workmen.  A  regular  little  Paradise, 
I  tell  you.  The  old  Englishman  himself,  always  so 
polite,  shaking  hands  with  everybody  like  a  pal. 
Not  like  it  is  with  us,  I  must  say.  A  workman  there 
had  a  decent  life,  and  ..." 

"  Stop  talking  all  that  rot !  "  The  peasant  grew 
suddenly  furious,  and  waved  his  hand.  "  He  goes 
on  jawing  about  he  doesn't  know  what,  while  I,  like 
a  fool,  sit  and  listen  to  him." 

"  By  God,  it's  the  truth  !  "  affirmed  the  lad  with 
conviction. 

"  Humbug !  That's  a  bit  too  thick,"  cried  the 
peasant,  growing  more  and  more  enraged.  He  got 
up  and  went  to  the  corner,  where  he  began  to  roll 
a  cigarette,  muttering  to  himself. 

The  locksmith  quickly  bent  over  to  Sheviriof  and 
whispered  : 

"  It's  six  months  since  I  left  home.  Perhaps  the 
old  girl  has  died  of  want  by  this  time  !  "     His  grimy 


SHEVIRIOF  37 

face  became  convulsed.  "  If  one  cannot  count  on 
getting  work  here,  what  else  is  there  left  but  the 
bridge  and  the  river  ?  "  He  leaned  his  elbows  on 
the  table  and  buried  his  fingers  in  his  matted  hair. 

"  Nonsense  !  " 

"  What  else,  then  ?  "  The  locksmith  raised  his 
head  for  a  moment.     "  Starvation,  eh  ?  " 

Sheviriof  smiled  bitterly. 

"  They  say  that  death  by  drowning  is  the  most 
terrible.  To  die  of  starvation  is  pleasanter  perhaps, 
and  if  you  drown  yourself,  what  does  that  prove  ? 
It  is  but  one  man  less  that's  starving,  and  that's 
all  the  better  for  them." 

"  Well,  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  Look  for  work,  if  you  can't  do  something  better," 
replied  Sheviriof. 

"  I  have  been  looking  for  it  for  six  months.  Nobody 
will  employ  me  because  I  am  a  so-called  '  politician.' 
I  sleep  anywhere,  and  have  sometimes  been  without 
food  for  three  days.  If  I  should  get  any  work  now, 
I  don't  believe  I  should  have  the  strength  for  it. 
The  day  before  yesterday  I  went  out  begging  ;  I 
have  got  as  low  as  that.  A  lady  passed  me  in  the 
street,  and  I  asked  her  for  money.*' 

"  Did  she  give  you  anything  ?  " 

"  No.     She  said  she  had  no  small  change." 

Sheviriof  drummed  on  the  table  with  his  fingers. 

Losing  hope,  the  locksmith  watched  this  nervous 
movement  intently,  while  round  them  all  was  noise 
and  laughter  and  swearing.  The  youth  with  the  ear- 
ring had  gone  across  to  the  billiard-room,  where  his 
merry  voice  could  be  heard.  In  front  of  the  window 
as  before,  legs  rushed  past.     It  gave  one  the  impression 


38       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

that  it  was  always  the  same  people  going  by,  and 
that  they  walked  up  and  down  outside  on  purpose  ; 
going  past  and  coming  back,  standing  at  the  corner 
for  a  moment  and  then  running  past  once  more. 

"  Well,  did  you  gain  anything  by  the  whole  busi- 
ness ?  "  asked  Sheviriof. 

"  Of  course  I  did !  "  cried  the  locksmith.  His 
grimy  face  lost  its  hopeless  expression  as  by  magic ; 
his  eyes  gleamed,  and  his  head  became  erect.  "  We 
had  to  work,  you  see,  with  a  mountain  gang, 
and  they  are  of  all  people  the  most  dense.  One  can 
hardly  expect  an}i:hing  else.  All  day  long,  from 
five  o'clock  in  the  morning  till  eight  at  night,  under 
the  earth.  Then  scuttle  home  to  eat  and  sleep,  and 
at  four  o'clock  goes  the  whistle  again.  Mud,  damp 
chills,  and  always  explosions.  In  our  mine  there 
were  two.  The  first  time  eighteen  men  were  killed, 
and  the  second  time  two  hundred  and  eighty-two. 
A  regular  convict's  life  !  Send  one  of  those  fellows 
to  Siberia,  and  he  would  say  that  it  was  a  hundred 
times  better.  So  you  see,  all  the  people  there  knew 
nothing  and  cared  for  nothing.  Only  the  fellows  in 
our  billet  were  an  intelligent  lot  of  men,  and  every- 
thing was  properly  organized.  In  fact,  at  the  begin- 
ning we  were  the  only  ones  that  worked  the  whole 
thing,  and  it  was  by  no  means  easy  to  do.  Spies 
everywhere.  The  slightest  offence  was  immediately 
reported  to  the  engineer  :  '  Ivanof,  Petrof,  or  anotlier, 
can't  be  trusted.'  And  then  within  twenty-four 
hours  they  would  fire  you  out.  All  agitation  wa& 
fearfully  difficult,  and  at  last  we  managed  to  set; 
things  moving  hi  our  billet." 

The  locksmith  smiled  proudly.     "  We  had  to  fight 


SHEVmiOF  S9 

for  everything  ;  for  Labour  representatives,  and  the 
right  to  hold  meetings ;  we  settled  the  housing 
question  ;  we  improved  the  infirmary,  and  had  the 
old  doctor  kicked  out.  He  was  a  brute  !  We  over- 
hauled' the  library  and  rearranged  it  on  our  own 
lines." 

"  Were  many  of  you  shot  down  ?  "  asked  Sheviriof 
carelessly. 

"  No ;  at  that  time  things  were  all  right.  Soldiers 
were  there,  but  they  did  not  dare  to  let  them  shoot 
us.  They  were  afraid  then  ;  but  later,  of  course  .  .  ." 
The  locksmith  made  a  despairing  gesture,  and  the 
look  of  enthusiasm  vanished  slowly  from  his  gaunt 
visage.  "  The  Black  Hundred  *  joined  us.  Then 
there  was  a  spUt,  and  the  management  as  soon  as  it 
saw  that  everything  was  going  smash,  seized  its 
chance,  and  then  came  all  the  trouble.  Our  repre- 
sentatives left  the  committee  and  were  replaced  by 
members  of  the  Black  Hundred  and  officials,  our 
committee  men  were  shoved  into  prison,  and  our 
library  broken  up." 

"  And  you  fellows  calmly  looked  on  ?  " 

"  Most  of  us  on  the  committee  were  already  in 
prison." 

"  I  don't  mean  the  committee,  but  the  workmen 
themselves  ;  the  fellows  whom  you  had  been  trying 
to  influence  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  told  you  just  now  they  placed  machine- 
guns  opposite  the  mine." 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes,  machine-guns,"  Sheviriof  repeated 
absently. 

♦  The  Black  Hundred  were  members  of  a  Trades  Union  of  real 
Russian  people. 


40       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

The  locksmith's  features  became  again  convulsed 
as  he  continued  : 

"  Ah  !  What  they  did,  God  only  knows.  Every 
sort  of  thing  !  Flogging,  shooting,  rape.  .  .  .  Mem- 
bers of  the  committee  suffered  most  of  anybody.  I 
didn't  come  off  so  badly  myself,  as  I  was  one  of  the 
first  to  be  arrested.  But  the  others  had  a  very  rough 
time  of  it.  A  Cossack  tied  our  librarian  to  his  saddle 
and  galloped  off  with  him  to  the  town.  His  arms 
were  pinioned,  so  that  if  he  lagged  behind  they  became 
twisted,  and  he  fell  in  the  dirt  and  was  dragged 
along.  But  behind  him  rode  another  Cossack,  who 
ran  his  lance  into  him  to  make  him  get  up.  What 
devils !  Eh  ?  Many  people  wept  when  they  saw 
him  like  that." 

"  Oh,  they  wept,  did  they  !  "  replied  Sheviriof  in 
a  tone  of  scathing  contempt.  His  features  were  calm 
and  expressionless  as  usual,  but  he  drummed  harder 
than  ever  on  the  table  with  his  fingers.  The  lock- 
smith evidently  understood,  for  his  eyes  flashed. 

"  Yes,  they  wept,  and  they'll  weep  again,  but  in 
these  tears  there  is  blood." 

Sheviriof  smiled  coldly.  "  Your  tears  of  blood  are 
not  much  good,"  he  said  with  scorn. 

"  Perhaps  not,  but  there  will  be  a  day  of  vengeance," 
replied  the  locksmith. 

"  When  ?     When  you  are  all  dead  of  starvation  ?  " 

The  locksmith  stared  at  him  aghast,  but  Sheviriof 
did  not  flinch.  Then,  looking  down  and  resting  his 
head  on  his  hands,  the  locksmith  replied  stubbornly, 
"  What  of  that  ?  Is  my  life  of  the  slightest  value 
in  comparison  ?  " 

"  No,  it  is  of  no  value  whatever,"  said  Sheviriof, 


SHEVIRIOF  41 

cutting  him  short  and  rising  from  the  table.  The 
locksmith,  who  had  buried  his  face  in  his  hands, 
looked  up  suddenly  as  if  to  say  something,  but 
refrained. 

"  What  price  monkeys  ?  "  cried  some  one  at  an 
adjoining  table,  as  he  burst  into  a  silly,  drunken 
laugh.  For  a  time  Sheviriof  stood  there  reflecting. 
His  lips  moved,  though  he  said  nothing.  Then  he 
smiled  grimly  and  walked  out  with  head  erect.  The 
grimy  locksmith  had  not  moved. 


CHAPTER  V 

Beneath  its  dome  of  cold,  grey  sky,  the  broad, 
straight  thoroughfare  stretched  far  away  into  the 
blue  distance.  As  far  as  the  eye  could  see  it  appeared 
to  be  one  dark,  motley  crowd  of  human  beings, 
hurrying  hither  and  thither,  hustling  each  other,  and 
divided  into  two  parts  by  the  endless  stream  of 
vehicles  and  the  tramway  lines,  while  never  for  a 
moment  appearing  either  to  increase  or  to  decrease. 

The  houses  looked  splendid  with  their  large, 
shining  windows,  and  the  lamp-posts  of  the  electric 
tramways  were  almost  elegant  in  their  effect.  Here, 
even  the  air  and  the  light  of  heaven  seemed  clearer 
and  purer.  It  was  easier  to  breathe  than  in  the 
open,  and  one's  blood  coursed  swifter  through  the 
veins. 

With  head  erect,  Sheviriof  strode  along,  his  hands 
plunged  in  his  pockets.  Immediately  in  front  of 
him,  trotted  a  corpulent  gentleman.  He  wore  a  hat 
turned  up  at  the  side,  and  displayed  a  pink  double 
neck,  which  looked  like  a  soft  furrow  of  flesh.  He 
walked  firmly  yet  jauntily,  swinging  his  stick  in  his 
gloved  hand.  This  head  on  its  short  pink  neck  kept 
turning  carelessly  in  all  directions,  glancing  with 
special  pleasure  at  the  ladies  it  passed.  One  could 
see  that  its  owner  had  just  dined,  and  being  in  a 


SHEVIRIOF  43 

good  humour  was  enjoying  the  fresh  air  and  the 
agreeable  spectacle  of  pretty  faces.  For  a  long  while 
Sheviriof  had  not  noticed  him,  but  the  rosy  neck 
being  immediate!}'-  in  front  of  him,  his  stern  glance 
rested  -at  last  thereon.  As  he  watched  it  a  dull  and 
grievous  thought  came  into  his  mind,  impelling  him 
to  follow  the  fat  neck.  When  a  group  of  ladies 
barred  his  way,  Sheviriof  turned  rapidly  aside,  and 
in  so  doing,  pushed  against  an  officer.  But,  without 
hearing  the  latter's  furious  exclamation,  "  Block- 
head," he  persistently  followed  the  neck.  The 
strange  sinister  look  in  his  eyes  became  more  intense, 
and  spoke  of  a  power  that  was  fierce  and  pitiless. 
If  the  fat  man  with  the  rosy  neck  could  have  turned 
round,  and  could  have  understood  the  meaning  of 
this  ruthless  glance,  he  would  have  dashed  into  the 
crowd,  and  with  distorted  features  shrieked  aloud 
for  help.  If  one  could  have  translated  into  words 
the  thoughts  that  surged  in  Sheviriof's  biu-ning  brain, 
they  would  have  been  as  follows,  "  Go  your  ways, 
go  !  But  mark  this,  that  when  I  meet  any  prosperous, 
well-fed  man,  I  say  to  myself,  '  He  is  well-fed, 
prosperous,  and  living  his  life,  only  because  I  allow 
him  to  do  so.  For  me,  the  miserable  arguments  in 
favour  of  each  man's  sacred  right  to  live,  no  longer 
exist.'  I  am  the  lord  of  thy  life.  No  one  may  know 
the  hour  nor  the  day  when  the  limit  of  my  patience 
shall  be  reached,  and  I  shall  bring  to  justice  all  of 
you  who  for  so  long  have  crushed  the  life  out  of 
us,  who  have  robbed  us  of  sunshine  and  beauty  and 
love,  who  have  condemned  us  to  a  joyless  life  of 
eternal  slavery.  Perha]:>s  then  I  shall  refuse  my 
permission  for  you  to  Uve  and  to  enjoy.     I  stretch 


44       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

out  my  hand,  and  from  your  pink  skull,  blood  and 
brains  will  spurt  forth  and  splash  upon  the  pavement. 
I  alone  am  the  judge  and  the  executioner.  The  life 
of  every  man  is  in  my  power,  and  I  can  fling  it  into 
the  dust  and  dirt  as  soon  as  ever  I  will.  Mark  this 
and  tell  it  to  the  whole  world  !     I  have  spoken." 

In  a  sudden  frenzy  of  rage,  Sheviriof  for  a  moment 
saw  nothing  but  the  pink  human  neck  shining  in 
the  twilight,  and  felt  nothing  but  the  cold  handle 
of  his  revolver,  which  he  grasped  convulsively  in 
his  pocket  while  the  corpulent  gentleman  walked  on 
in  front,  swinging  his  stick,  and  the  pink  furrow  of 
flesh  quivered  naively  above  the  stiff  white  collar. 

Sheviriof  suddenly  stepped  forward  and  jerked  his 
head  in  the  air,  as  if  he  were  giving  vent  to  a  mad 
shriek  of  fury  and  revenge.  Then  he  stood  still, 
smiled  a  strange  smile,  and  wheeling  sharply  round, 
walked  back.  The  plump  little  gentleman  pursued 
his  way  as  before,  ogling  the  pretty  women,  and 
swinging  his  stick  until  he  was  soon  lost  in  the  noisy 
crowd. 

Sheviriof  crossed  the  street  and  was  nearly  run 
over  by  one  of  the  tramways,  though  he  did  not 
notice  the  danger  himself.  Then  he  went  along 
deserted  by-streets  leading  to  his  own  empty  room, 
like  some  weird  spirit  emerging  from  the  gloom  to 
which  it  again  returns. 


CHAPTER  VI 

As  he  reached  the  threshold  he  could  already  hear 
hysterical  cries,  and  in  going  along  the  dark  passage 
he  noticed  that  the  door  of  a  room  was  open  in  which 
he  had  heard  children  crying  that  morning. 

Although  he  walked  past  quickly,  he  was  able  to 
see  beds,  boxes,  and  piles  of  ragged  clothing  lying 
about  thereon.  Two  little  half-naked  children  sat 
side  by  side  on  the  edge  of  the  bed,  with  dangling  legs 
and  frightened  faces.  A  little  girl  of  seven  cowered 
near  the  table,  while  a  tall,  gaunt  woman  thrust  her 
fingers  through  her  tangled  hair. 

"  Wliatever  are  we  going  to  do  ?  Didn't  you  think 
of  that,  you  fool,  you  wretch ! "  she  screamed  in  despair. 

Sheviriof  hurried  past,  and  on  reaching  his  room, 
threw  off  his  cloak  and  sat  down  on  his  bed  listening 
attentively.  The  woman  went  on  screaming  and  her 
cries  rang  out  through  the  whole  building  as  those  of 
one  who  was  drowning. 

"  Where  are  we  to  go  with  the  children  ?  Walk 
about  the  streets,  begging  ?  Or  shall  I  sell  myself  so 
that  your  children  may  have  bread  ?  Why  can't  you 
speak  ?  What  are  you  thinking  about  ?  Where  are 
we  to  go  ?  " 

Her  voice  became  jihriller  and  shriller  ;  the  dreadful 
wheezing  tone  of  it  suggested  consumption. 


46       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  What  stuff  you  talk  !  So  you're  a  revolutionary  ! 
You're  going  to  protest,  are  you  ?  What  right  have 
you  to  protest  when  they  only  kept  you  on  out  of 
pity  ?  WTio  do  you  suppose  you  are  ?  Better  men 
than  you  have  had  to  live  and  bear  it.  Why  couldn't 
you  bear  it  ?  You  ought  to  remember  that  you've 
got  five  hungry  mouths  at  home  !  Proud,  indeed  ! 
Beggars  can't  afford  to  be  proud.  Its  bread,  not 
pride,  we  want,  you  fool,  you,  you  idiot,  you  wretch  !  " 
Here  she  was  seized  by  a  furious  fit  of  coughing  which 
ended  in  a  dismal  groan  as  that  of  some  dog  that  is 
being  crushed  to  death. 

"  Mashenka,  you  should  fear  God,"  murmured  a 
voice  in  broken  accents.  "  I  couldn't  do  anything 
else.     After  all,  I'm  a  man  and  not  a  dog." 

The  woman  burst  into  shrill  laughter. 

"  A  fine  sort  of  man  you  are  !  You're  just  a  dog, 
and  if  you  brought  puppies  into  the  world,  at  least 
hold  your  tongue  and  bear  it.  If  you  were  a  man  we 
shouldn't  have  to  herd  together  in  this  hole  and  get 
a  meal  once  in  thi'ce  days.  I  shouldn't  have  to  run 
about  barefoot  and  wash  other  peoples'  rags.  A  man 
indeed  !  You  look  like  one  !  Damn  you  and  your 
manliness  !  For  eighteen  months  we  have  been 
starving  till  I  begged  them  to  give  you  the  job, 
kneeling  to  them  in  tears,  like  a  beggar.  Trying  to 
rescue  Russia,  indeed,  when  you're  starving  !  Look 
at  the  patriot,  the  hero  !  My  God  !  I  curse  the  day 
that  ever  I  set  eyes  on  you.     Wretch  !  " 

"  Mashenka,  do  fear  God !  "  came  the  despair- 
ing rejoinder.  "  How  could  I  have  acted  other- 
wise ?  They  all  went  and  they  all  hoped.  I  never 
thought.  ..." 


SHEVIRIOF  47 

"  Well,  you  ought  to  have  thought !  Yes,  ought  to 
have  thought !  Perhaps  the  others  haven't  a  lot  of 
hungry  mouths  to  feed.  What  right  have  you  to  risk 
things  for  other  pTeople  ?  Did  you  ask  us  ?  Did  you 
ask  your  children  if  they  were  willing  to  starve  for 
your  Russia  ?  Did  you  ask  them,  I  say  ?  " 

"  I  couldn't  know.  I  was  hoping  to  make  life 
better  for  you  all." 

"  Better,  indeed  !  "  screamed  the  woman,  hysteri- 
cally. "  What  right  had  you  to  dream  of  having  a 
better  life  when  you  couldn't  possibly  have  a  worse 
one,  when  in  the  village  we  were  almost  begging  from 
door  to  door  ;    when  I  got  consumption  .  .  ." 

Then  she  coughed  as  if  her  chest  would  burst  in 
pieces. 

"  Look  !  "  she  gasped,  "  I'm  dying  !  " 

"  Oh,  Mashenka  !  "  exclaimed  her  husband,  and  in 
that  feeble  voice  there  was  so  much  grief,  remorse 
and  love  that  even  Sheviriof's  impassive  countenance 
was  contracted  spasmodically. 

"  You  and  your  Mashenka  !  "  screamed  the  woman 
bitterly,  "  fine  sort  of  Mashenka  I  look  now  !  More 
like  a  corpse,  do  you  hear  ?   A  corpse  !  " 

"  Mummy  dear,"  cried  a  childish  voice  suddenly, 
"  don't  talk  like  that,  mummy  !  " 

"  Oh,  don't  cry  like  that,  for  God's  sake !  " 
exclaimed  the  husband.  "  Why,  you  see  I  couldn't 
.  .  .  Well,  I  couldn't  .  .  .  When  they  said  to  me  .  .  . 
said  to  my  face  '  You  brute !  You  donkey.  .  .  .' 
Oh,  do  stop  crying,  for  God's  sake,  stop  !  I'll  .  .  . 
I'll  hang  myself,  that  I  will.  .  .  ." 

"  Aha  !  Hang  yourself  ?  "  said  the  woman.  And 
her  tone  was  calm  and  fearfully  distinct.     "  Hang 


48       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

yourself,  will  you  ?  And  what's  going  to  happen  to 
us  ?  You'll  hang  yourself,  and  these  children  are  to 
die  of  starvation,  eh  ?  Livotchka  may  walk  the 
streets,  eh  ?  All  right,  hang  yourself  !  Go  on  !  But 
mark  you,  while  the  rope  is  round  your  neck,  I'll 
curse  5^ou  !  " 

Sheviriof  now  heard  a  strange,  dull  thud,  as  if 
some  one's  head  had  struck  the  wall. 

"  Stop,  stop  !  "  cried  the  woman,  rushing  forward. 
"  Don't  don't,  Liosha  !  " 

There  was  a  sound  of  struggling  and  of  a  chair 
overturned.  Then  came  the  mad,  dull  bumping  of  a 
human  skull  against  the  wall  and  screams  and 
gurglings. 

"  Liosha,  Lioshenka,  don't,  don't ! "  yelled  the 
woman. 

And  then  one  could  hear  another  sound,  as  if  the 
head  were  being  dashed  against  something  soft. 
Probably  she  had  thrust  her  hand  between  her 
husband's  head  and  the  wall  to  check  the  blows.  All 
at  once  the  children  began  to  cry.  First  one  voice, 
that  of  the  elder  girl  probably,  and  then  those  of  the 
two  little  boys,  who  with  dangling  legs  were  seated 
on  the  bed. 

"  Liosha,  Lioshenka  !  don't,  don't !  "  muttered  the 
woman  as  if  in  delirium.  "  Forgive  me  !  .  .  .  Oh 
don't  !  It's  all  right !  It's  all  right !  Of  course, 
you  couldn't  do  anything  else.  They  insulted  you. 
Oh,  Lioshenka,  stop  !  stop  !  "  She  burst  into  hyste- 
rical wailing.  Then  all  was  still,  and  only  a  pitiful 
sound  of  sobbing  could  be  heard,  which  ceased  as 
twilight  fell. 

In  the   passage,   behind  the   curtain,   more   fitful 


SHEVIRIOF  49 

whisperings    were    heard,    and    from    time    to    time 
Sheviriof  could  hear  snatches  of  the  talk. 

"  Wouldn't  obey,  wasn't  that  it  ?  " 

"  Insulted  his  chief.  .  .  ." 

"  The  overseer  called  him  a  blockhead,  didn't  he  ?  " 
"  Men  won't  knock  under  nowadays,  eh  ?  " 

"  Fancy  insulting  the  chief !  So  good  to  him,  too ! 
I  never  !  " 

Sheviriof  drummed  with  his  fingers  on  his  knees. 
The  door-bell  rang  loudly  and  the  whispering  ceased. 
Nobody  answered  the  door  and  the  bell  rang  again. 
More  whisperings  behind  the  curtain  and  scufflings,  as 
if  the  old  people  were  reluctant  to  move.  The  bell 
rang  a  third  time  and  a  sound  of  shuffling  feet  was 
heard  along  the  passage. 

"  Why  can't  anybody  open  the  door  ?  Are  you  all 
asleep  ?  "  asked  Aladief  as  he  entered.  Striding 
along  the  passage,  he  opened  the  door  of  his  room  and 
called  out  cheerily  : 

"  Maximova,  my  samovar,  please." 

It  seemed  strange,  this  jovial  voice,  amid  such 
grim,  oppressive  silence.  No  answer.  Then  Aladief 
called  out : 

"  Ivan  Fedosyeitch,  is  Maximova  out  ?  " 

A  servile  voice  from  behind  the  curtain  replied  : 

"  Maximova  has  gone  out  for  a  little  while,  Sergei 
Ivanovitch,  she  is  gone  with  Olga  Ivanovna  to 
church." 

*'  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Aladief.  "  Well,  perhaps  you 
could  bring  me  the  samovar  ?  " 

"  Directly,"  replied  the  old  fellow,  as  he  shuffled 
along  to  the  kitchen.  Aladief  began  to  hum  a  tune. 
Then  he  yawned  and  knocked  at  Sheviriof's  door. 

D 


50       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  Neighbour,  are  you  in  ? "  he  called  out.  No 
answer. 

Aladief  waited  some  time,  yawned  again  loudly, 
and  rustled  the  papers  in  his  hand.  All  was  silent. 
In  the  kitchen  the  gurgling  of  the  samovar  could  be 
heard,  and  there  was  a  smell  of  crackling  firewood. 

The  old  woman  had  also  crept  out  into  the  passage 
and  glanced  timidly  in  the  direction  of  the  teacher's 
room.  From  that  room  a  strange  feeling  of  depression 
and  despair  seemed  to  proceed,  pervading  the  whole 
house.  Perhaps  Aladief  felt  something  of  it  too,  for 
he  became  restless  and  uneasy,  and  sighed  at  intervals. 

There  was  something  in  the  air  that  depressed 
every  one.  The  old  woman  crept  into  the  kitchen, 
rattled  the  china,  and  then  brought  the  tea-things 
into  Aladief  s  room. 

"  Why  should  you  trouble,  Maria  Fedosyevna  ?  " 
said  Aladief  pleasantly. 

"  Why  not,  Sergei  Ivanovitch  ?  I  am  always 
willing  to  oblige  you,  and  besides  how  could  you  do 
it  for  yourself  ?  "  replied  the  old  woman,  in  a  sing- 
song voice.  She  stood  at  the  door  of  the  room  and 
glanced  at  Aladief  insinuatingly. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Aladief,  yawning. 
He  saw  that  she  wanted  to  tell  him  something. 
Coming  forward,  she  said  in  a  whisper : 

"  Our  teacher  has  been  dismissed."  She  said  this 
timidly,  yet  at  the  same  time  with  a  certain  satisfac- 
tion. 

"  You  don't  say  so !  What  for  ? "  he  asked 
sympathetically. 

She  came  closer. 

"  He  was  rude  to  his  superior.     The  head  master 


SHEVIRIOF  51 

called  him  hard  names,  and  instead  of  being  hmnble, 
he  insulted  him." 

"  Oh,  what  a  pity,"  replied  Aladief  in  a  vexed  tone, 
"  what  will  they  do,  now  ?  They  have  absolutely 
nothing." 

"  You're  right,  Sergei  Ivanovitch,  nothing  at  all." 

She  nodded  complacently. 

"  Maximova  was  telling  me  yesterday  that  they 
owed  her  two  months'  rent,"  said  Aladief. 

"  They  haven't  paid  any  rent.     No  rent.  .  .  ." 

"  It's  a  bad  business  !  "  sighed  Aladief.  "  They'll 
be  utterly  ruined." 

"  Oh  yes,  they'll  be  ruined,  sure  enough,  Sergei 
Ivanovitch.  They'll  be  ruined.  How  can  they  be 
anything  else  ?  He  ought  to  have  had  sense  enough 
to  hold  his  tongue,  and  perhaps  they  would  have 
overlooked  it.  But  then,  it  was  God's  will  !  Giving 
himself  such  airs  as  if  he  was  a  gentleman  !  So  stuck- 
up  !  That's  why  he  was  kicked  out.  He  ought  to 
have  knuckled  under." 

"  How  could  he  knuckle  under  when  they  insulted 
him  to  his  face  like  that  ?  "  said  Aladief  irritably, 
while  it  was  evident  that  something  was  passing 
through  his  mind. 

"  Oh,  little  father,  humble  folk  like  that,  how  can 
they  afford  to  be  offended  ?  They  must  just  bear  it. 
It  would  have  been  all  right  if  he  hadn't  .  .  ." 

"  Ah,  but  there  are  some  things  one  can't  stand  !  " 

"  Humble  folk,  little  father,  have  to  stand  any- 
thing. When  I  was  young  I  was  parlourmaid  at 
Count  Araksin's.  You've  heard  of  Count  Araksin, 
haven't  you  ?  " 

"  To  the  devil  with  him  !  " 


52       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

The  old  woman  started  backwards  ;  she  was  almost 
offended. 

"  Dear,  dear,  the  devil,  you  said  !  Why  the  Count 
himself  is  in  the  Senate  house  !  The  houses  he  owns 
in  Moseow  and  Piter  *  come  to  more  than  two.  ..." 

"  There,  then,  go  on  !     What  next  ?  " 

"  Well,  a  bracelet  belonging  to  one  of  the  elder 
ladies  had  disappeared,  and  they  suspected  me.  The 
Count  flew  into  a  passion — he  had  a  shocking  temper 
— and  hit  me  three  times  in  the  face.  Knocked  out 
two  of  my  teeth.  Anybody  else  would  have  gone  to 
law  about  it,  but  I  put  up  with  it.  What  do  you 
think,  Sergei  Ivanovitch,  it  was  the  Count's  brother 
who  took  the  bracelet !  He  was  hard  up,  and  so  he 
took  the  bracelet,  that's  what  he  did.  But  when  it 
all  came  out,  the  Count  himself  gave  me  a  hundred 
roubles,  ..."  the  old  woman  almost  choked  with 
delight,  and  her  wrinkled  visage  was  wreathed  in 
smiles.  "  Now,  if  I  hadn't  borne  that,  I  shouldn't 
have  got  anything  from  the  Count.  I  had  no  witnesses 
except  Ivan  Fedosyeitch,  who  was  the  footman  there, 
and  he  could  never  have  given  evidence  against  the 
Count." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  asked  Aladief  angrily. 

"  Oh,  sir,  how  could  he  go  against  the  Count  ?  " 

"  Why,  didn't  you  tell  me  you  were  betrothed  to 
him  ?  " 

"  Ah  well,  betrothed !  '*  the  old  woman  seemed 
astonished,  "  yes,  so  I  was,  but  to  go  against  aristo- 
crats like  that !  That  would  never  have  done  !  He 
was  nobody.  So  I  thought  I'd  better  bear  it,  and  I 
was  right." 

*   A  slang  name  for  Petersburg. 


SHEVIRIOF  53 

"  Shame  !  "  cried  Aladief  as  he  spat  in  a  fury  and 
turned  away. 

The  old  woman  stared  at  him  sheepishly,  and  there 
were  tears  in  her  \tizened  eyes.  At  that  moment  the 
old  man,  pushing  sideways  through  the  doorway, 
brought  in  the  samovar.  \Vhen  he  had  placed  it  on 
the  table,  he  looked  round  anxiously  for  his  wife  and 
plucked  her  by  the  sleeve,  and  the  old  couple  went 
shuffling  down  the  passage  and  began  whispering 
together  behind  the  curtain  as  before. 

Aladief  poured  out  tea  for  himself,  and  was  just 
about  to  drink  it  when  the  door-bell  rang. 

"  Is  Aladief  at  home  ? "  asked  a  man's  voice 
bluntly. 

"  Yes,  sir,  he  is  at  home,"  replied  the  old  man,  who 
had  opened  the  door.  A  sound  of  noisy  footsteps 
ensued,  followed  by  a  knocking  at  Aladief's  door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  cried  the  latter. 

A  little  dark  man  entered  with  a  face  like  a  hawk, 
and  wearing  round  spectacles  which  gave  him  a 
fearsome  appearance. 

"  Ah,"  drawled  Aladief,  and  his  voice  showed  that 
he  was  not  over-pleased  at  the  visit." 

"  Good  day  !  " 

"  Good  day  !     Will  you  have  some  tea  ?  " 

"  Tea  be  damned,"  replied  the  visitor  angrily. 

He  carefully  removed  his  overcoat  and  took  out 
something  that  was  thickly  wrapped  up  in  paper  and 
tied  up  with  string. 

"  What's  that  for  ?  "  asked  Aladief  sharply. 

The  little  man  laid  the  parcel  carefully  on  the  table 
and  placed  books  all  round  it  so  that  it  should  not  fall 
on  the  floor.     Aladief  watched  him  uneasily. 


54       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


(I 


You'll  soon  see.  They  almost  collared  me.  I 
only  just  managed  to  get  away.  Where  the  devil  is 
one  to  stow  a  thing  like  this  ?  I  brought  it  to  you, 
do  you  see  ?     And  this  one,  too." 

Thrusting  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  he  pulled  out 
another  parcel  which  he  also  laid  on  the  table. 

"  To-morrow  I'll  come  and  fetch  them." 

Aladief  was  silent. 

"  It  seems  to  displease  you,"  said  the  manikin  with 
a  touch  of  contempt,  "  but  you  could  really  do  me 
this  little  favour,  now  that  you're  quite  safe  where 
you  are." 

Aladief  rose,  and  paced  up  and  down  the  room, 
evidently  much  concerned. 

"  Of  course  you're  one  of  the  go-gently  sort ;  an 
idealist,  almost  a  Tolstoyan  !  "  sneered  the  hawk- 
faced  man,  who  showed  continual  nervous  restlessness. 

"  It's  no  use  your  trying  to  offend  me,  Victor," 
replied  Aladief  gloomily.  "  Of  course  I'll  look  after 
this  till  to-morrow,  but  you  understand  .  .  ." 

"  Ah,  you'll  look  after  it  !  That's  the  main  point," 
said  the  other  quickly.  "  As  for  the  rest,  that's  your 
affair  ;   there's  no  need  for  us  to  quarrel." 

"  Yet  we  shall  have  to  come  to  some  understand- 
ing," replied  Aladief  firmly,  his  face  crimson  and 
his  eyes  flashing. 

"  What's  the  good  ?  "  asked  the  other,  with  a  show 
of  indifference. 

"  Because,"  said  Aladief  angrily,  "  because  we've 
been  friends  for  so  many  years,  and  now  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  don't,  please  !  What's  the  good  of  harping 
on  such  trivialities  ?  " 

Again  Aladief  flushed  up  and  breathed  hard. 


SHEVIRIOF  55 

"  Perhaps  for  you  they  are  trivialities,  though  I 
don't  believe  it.  However,  brag  about  it  if  you  like, 
I  don't  care  !  But  for  me  they  are  not  trivialities,  and 
I  am  determined  to  make  you  understand  me." 

"  Oh,'  well,"  replied  the  other,  blinking  his  eyes 
nervously,  "  it  never  troubled  me — ^but  if  you  par- 
ticularly wish  it  .  .  ." 

"  Yes,  I  particularly  wish  it." 

The  other  shrugged  his  shoulders  and  sat  down 
with  an  air  of  resignation.  This  was  not  lost  on 
Aladief  who,  controlling  himself,  proceeded  in  a 
calmer  tone. 

"  First  of  all,  I  didn't  leave  you  because  I  was 
afraid,  and  that  you  know  perfectly  well,  Victor,  so 
for  once  do  be  straightforward." 

"  No  one  ever  supposed  you  did,"  replied  the  other 
carelessly. 

"  So  that  my  only  reason  for  leaving  you  was  that 
I  have  wholly  and  entirely  changed  my  views,  not 
indeed  as  to  the  idea,  but  as  to  certain  tactical 
methods  employed.     As  I  understand  it  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  good  gracious  me ! "  exclaimed  Victor, 
jumping  up,  "  spare  me  all  that,  please !  We  all 
know  what  you  understand.  We  know  !  Your  idea 
is  that  freedom  cannot  be  brought  about  by  force,  but 
that  the  people  must  be  educated,  and  so  on." 

The  words  fell  from  his  lips  so  rapidly  it  seemed  as 
if  they  had  been  imprisoned  behind  them  for  ever  so 
long,  and  were  now  suddenly  set  free.  He  himself 
rushed  about  the  room,  his  hawk-like  face  with  its 
goggles  turned  in  all  directions,  and  his  hands,  with 
their  claw-like  fingers,  gesticulating  wildly. 

Aladief  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  unable  to 


56       TALES  OP  THE  REVOLUTION 

utter  a  word  in  reply.  To  him  it  was  inconceivable 
that  he  could  not  be  understood,  and  above  all  that 
this  man  who  had  lived  with  him,  loved  him  and 
believed  in  him  for  so  long,  should  not  understand 
him.  Yet  every  moment  he  felt  more  and  more 
convinced  that  an  impassable  barrier  had  arisen 
between  them,  making  all  words  of  no  avail.  How 
strange  it  seemed  that  these  two,  formerly  such 
bosom  friends,  were  now,  as  it  were,  speaking  in  a 
strange  language  merely  because  Aladief  had  become 
convinced  that  a  murder  must  always  be  a  murder, 
no  matter  in  whose  name  it  is  committed.  Only  love, 
only  that  endless  patience  which  in  the  course  of 
centuries  leads  human  beings  step  by  step  nearer  to 
each  other  can  free  history  from  the  bondage  of 
oppression  and  ruthless  might.  Compared  with  such 
titanic  influence,  the  influence  of  centuries,  what 
could  a  little  piece  of  metal  and  dynamite  achieve 
which  hurled  by  the  hand  of  some  malcontent, 
splashes  blood  on  a  couple  of  inches  of  earth  and 
rouses  legions  of  rebellious  and  revengeful  spirits  ? 
Aladief  sighed  heavily,  and  clenched  his  strong  hands. 

"  Ah,  well !  It  can't  be  helped  !  I  see  that  we 
shall  never  understand  each  other,"  he  said  gloomily,  as 
he  sat  down  at  the  table,  leaning  his  head  on  his  hands. 

"  Of  course  we  shan't  understand  each  other,"  was 
the  furious  rejoinder,  "  and  it's  quite  useless  to  waste 
words  about  it." 

Aladief  did  not  answer.  For  a  moment  the  little 
man  stood  still  as  if  irresolute,  then  in  his  former 
bustling  fashion  he  blurted  out : 

"  At  any  rate  this  stuff  can  stop  here  with  you  till 
to-morrow  ?  " 


SHEVIRIOF  57 

"  Oh,  my  God,  what  does  that  matter  !  "  rephed 
Aladief,  "  I  don't  care.  Whether  it's  here  or  there, 
what  does  it  matter  ?  " 

"  All  right !  That'll  do  splendidly.  So  good-bye 
till  to-nK)rrow.  I'll  call  to-morrow."  The  little  man 
caught  up  his  hat  and  thrust  out  a  lean  hand.  Aladief 
slowly  held  out  his,  but  the  other  did  not  grasp  it. 
The  round  spectacles  appeared  to  be  reflecting.  Then 
all  in  a  minute  he  fairly  flung  Aladief's  hand  aside  and 
said  : 

"  Perhaps  I  shan't  come  myself,  and  some  one  else 
may.     The  password  is  '  Ivan  Ivanovitch.'  " 

"  Good,"  replied  Aladief  without  looking  up. 

"  So  good-bye."  Thrusting  his  hat  on  his  head,  the 
little  man  rushed  towards  the  door.  For  a  moment 
he  stopped  there. 

"  It's  a  great  pity,"  he  said  in  an  altered  tone  of 
voice,  and  behind  those  gleaming  spectacles  his  keen 
little  eyes  were  moist.  Yet  he  instantly  recovered 
himself,  nodded  his  head  and  disappeared.  Aladief 
sat  at  the  table,  silent  and  depressed. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Dusk  was  falling  as  Maximova  and  Olienka  the 
sempstress  came  back  from  church.  They  brought 
with  them  a  faint  odour  of  incense,  and  in  their  eyes 
there  was  still  a  look  of  dreamy  devotion. 

Olienka  did  not  even  take  off  her  shawl,  but  made  it 
just  slip  from  her  shoulders  as  she  sat  down  at  the 
table,  letting  her  pale  thin  hands  fall  in  her  lap. 

Maximova  also  appeared  to  be  lost  in  thought.  She 
suddenly  sighed  as  if  awakening  from  a  dream,  and 
began  to  fold  up  her  heavy  Turkish  wrap  of  bright 
colours.  As  usual  her  face  looked  hard  and  careworn. 
She  glanced  at  Olienka  and  muttered,  as  if  to  herself : 

"  We  must  make  ourselves  look  a  bit  smart." 

"  What  ?  "  cried  the  girl,  starting  backwards,  as 
she  turned  her  bright  eyes  towards  Maximova  and 
blushed. 

"  We  must  make  ourselves  look  a  bit  smart,  I  said," 
replied  the  old  woman,  raising  her  voice  ;  "  Vasili 
Stepanovitch  promised  to  come  here  to-night  about 
seven.  You  had  better  make  yourself  look  nice, 
eh?" 

"  Coming  this  evening  ?  "  exclaimed  Olienka  in  a 
helpless  voice,  turning  deadly  pale,  as  if  her  whole 
vitality,  quitting  her  body,  had  become  centred  in  her 
two  bashful  eyes. 


SHEVIRIOF  59 

"  Why  not  ?  If  not  this  evening,  then  it  will  be 
to-morrow.  It  won't  interfere  with  what's  got  to  be, 
and  one  doesn't  often  get  such  a  chance.  Lots  of 
girls  in  the  town  like  you  would  be  glad  of  it.  Such  a 
rich  sweetheart  as  that  !  " 

Olienka's  arms  quivered  to  the  very  tips  of  her 
fingers  as  she  turned  to  the  other  with  tearful  pleading 
eyes. 

"  Maximova,  best  wait  till  to-morrow.  My  head 
aches,  Maximova  !  " 

There  was  such  a  note  of  horror  and  distress  in 
that  youthful  voice,  that  Sheviriof,  seated  behind  the 
door  in  his  dark  room,  turned  his  head  and  began  to 
listen  more  attentively. 

"  Oh,  my  poor  dear  one,"  sobbed  Maximova,  "  what 
will  you  do  ?  I  know  .  .  ."  she  was  going  to  say, 
"  what  is  in  store  for  you,"  but  she  stopped  short, 
and  merely  said,  "  you'll  do  nothing." 

"  Maximova,"  said  Olienka  in  a  trembling  voice, 
holding  her  hands  as  if  in  prayer,  "  I  would  rather  go 
to  work " 

"  Work  indeed  !  "  exclaimed  Maximova  irritably  ; 
"  what  are  you  good  for  ?  Richer  girls. than  you  go 
on  the  streets,  but  you're  so  silly  and  so  stupid.  As 
if  you  would  be  ruined  by  a  trifle  like  that !  You'd 
better  listen  to  me.  When  I  am  dead,  or  when  I'm 
quite  blind,  what'll  become  of  you  I  should  like  to 
know  ?  " 

"  I  shall  go  into  a  convent,  Maximova.  I  should 
love  to  be  a  nun  !  It's  so  nice  in  a  convent,  so 
quiet." 

Maximova  sighed.  "  You  silly  thing  !  Why  they 
wouldn't  have  you  in  a  convent !     To  go  there  means 


60       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

money  or  else  rough  work,  and  what  work  can  you 
do  ?  What's  the  use  of  talking  ?  "  she  continued, 
with  a  gesture  of  impatience  ;  "  you'd  better  go  with 
Vasili  Stepanovitch.  At  least  you'd  be  your  own 
mistress  and  able  to  support  me  into  the  bargain. 
They  say  that  Vasili  Stepanovitch  has  got  about 
seven  thousand  in  the  bank." 

"  He  is  a  horrible  man,  Maximova  !  "  murmured 
Olienka,  "  so  coarse  !     Just  like  some  low  peasant." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  expect  some  fine  gentleman, 
eh  ?  No,  fine  gentlemen  are  not  for  the  likes  of  us, 
Olienka.     Be  thankful  to  get  an  honest  man." 

"  He  has  not  read  anything,  Maximova.  I  asked 
him  if  he  liked  Tchekov,  and  he  said,  '  In  our  business 
we've  no  time  for  such  rubbish.'  "  And  Olienka 
imitated  his  gruff  bass  voice,  though  her  large  eyes 
were  full  of  shining  tears. 

"  He  is  quite  right,  too  !  "  cried  Maximova  angrily ; 
"  not  read  anything  indeed  !  Where's  the  good  of 
reading  ?  He  is  a  business  man,  not  a  simpleton 
like  you." 

"  Oh  Maximova,  you  don't  understand  or  you 
wouldn't  talk  like  that.  The  one  best  thing  in  the 
world  is  to  be  got  from  books.  Take  Tchekov,  for 
instance.  When  you  read  him,  he  simply  makes  you 
cry.     Oh,  he  is  wonderful  !  " 

Olienka  held  her  hands  to  her  cheeks  and  shook  her 
head. 

"  Go  along,  you  and  your  books  !  "  The  old  woman 
was  angry  now  ;  "  Very  likely  he  is  wonderful,  but 
he  is  not  for  us.  Look  here,  every  day  I  get  more 
blind.  Yesterday  when  clearing  the  table,  I  broke  a 
glass.     In  a  month's  time  I  shall  probably  have  to 


SHEVIRIOF  61 

go  to  the  poor-house.  I  used  to  see  Hke  you  do,  once. 
I  was  always  sewing  ;  and  now  see  what  sewing  has 
done  for  me,  and  I  wasn't  hke  you  are,  for  when  you 
earn  five  roubles  and  manage  to  get  two  out  of  it,  you 
are  thankful  !  Not  a  rag  to  your  back,  and  you 
talk  about  books  !  Books,  if  you  please  !  What  on 
earth  are  you  thinking  about  ?  " 

Old  Maria  now  crept  into  the  room. 

"  It's  worse  than  death,  Maximova  ;  he  is  a  peasant, 
and  would  probably  beat  me  !  "  exclaimed  Olienka  in 
a  despairing  tone. 

"  Come,  why  should  he  do  that  ?  "  asked  Maximova. 

"  And  if  he  did,  what's  a  beating  ?  "  mumbled 
Maria,  at  the  door,  "  you  must  just  bear  it,  Olga 
Ivanovna." 

"  What  ?  "  cried  Olienka  in  alarm. 

"  You  must  just  bear  it,  I  tell  you,"  repeated  the 
old  woman.  "  Perhaps  he'll  beat  you  once  or  twice 
and  then  leave  off.  They're  all  like  that ;  submission 
is  what  they  want.  So  if  he  beats  you,  just  take  it 
quietly.     He'll  soon  stop  it,  it's  nothing  much." 

Olienka  stared  at  her  in  horror,  as  if  some  hideous 
monster  had  crept  in  from  the  passage  and  was  coming 
towards  her.  She  caught  up  her  dress  and  bent 
forward  across  the  table,  but  Maria  had  already  for- 
gotten her,  and  had  turned  to  Maximova  as  her 
wizened  eyes  sparkled  maliciously  : 

"  Our  teacher's  been  dismissed  !  " 

"  What !  "  cried  Maximova,  "  dismissed  did  you 
say  ?     For  what  reason  ?  " 

f  "  Because  he  insulted  his  superiors.  The  chief 
dropped  on  to  him,  and  then  he  sauced  him  back.  So 
he  got  the  kick-out.     It's  awful  to  see  how  mad  Maria 


62       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Petrovna  is  about  it,"  said  the  old  hag  in  a  hurried 
whisper,  as  she  kept  looking  round  at  the  door. 

Maximova  looked  at  her  in  amazement. 

"  Why  they  owe  me  three  months'  rent !  This  very 
day  she  promised  to  pay  me  at  least  a  part  of  what 
she  owes  me.  What's  going  to  happen  ? "  she 
faltered. 

"  They'll  never  pay  anything  now.  How  should 
they  ?     Why,  they'll  all  have  to  starve." 

"  They  don't  suppose  I'm  going  to  keep  them  here 
for  nothing,  do  they  ?     I've  nothing  to  eat  myself." 

After  a  few  moments'  reflection,  she  suddenly 
turned  on  her  heel  and  went  quickly  out  of  the  room. 
Olienka,  who  had  hardly  understood  anything  that 
had  been  said,  looked  scared  at  her  departure,  and 
the  old  woman  slunk  timidly  into  the  passage  and 
disappeared  behind  the  curtain.  In  the  teacher's 
room  all  was  still.  The  children  were  huddled 
together  in  a  corner,  and  the  teacher  and  his  wife 
were  sitting  together  at  the  window,  their  heads 
silhouetted  against  the  waning  light. 

"  Maria  Petrovna  !  "  called  Maximova  from  the 
doorway  in  a  quiet,  firm  tone,  being  conscious  of  her 
power. 

The  teacher  and  his  wife  quickly  turned  their  heads. 

"  The  rent  that  you  promised  to  give  me  to-day, 
can  I  have  it  ? 

The  two  dark  forms  moved  simultaneously  and 
were  silent. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  old  woman,  still  with  deadly 
calm,  "  you'll  have  to  clear  out,  as  I  told  you.  To- 
morrow I  shall  let  the  room.  The  three  months'  rent 
you  owe  me  must  be  left  for  your  honesty  to  settle. 


SHEVIRIOF  63 

It's  my  own  fault  for  being  such  a  fool  as  to  trust 
you,  but  I  don't  care  to  go  on  doing  so  any  longer, 
thank  you  !  "  ; 

The  teacher's  wife  did  not  move,  but  he  hurriedly 
got  up  and  went  to  the  door,  almost  pushing  Maxi- 
mova  into  the  passage. 

"  Look  here,  I  was  going  to  ask  you  if  it  wouldn't 
be  possible  just  to —  I'll  try  and  get  another  place. 
I've  had  several  things  offered  to  me,  so,  if  you 
could  .  .  .  you  know  .  .  ." 

Maximova  sighed  and  made  a  gesture  of  refusal. 

"  I  can't,  sir  !  "  replied  Maximova,  stepping  back 
and  flinging  up  her  hands.  "  If  it  only  rested  with 
me!  But  the  Dvornik  is  always  worrying  me.  I 
shall  be  turned  out  myself.  I  had  been  counting  on 
your  rent,  and  now  you  tell  me  this  !  " 

'*  Maximova,"  began  the  teacher  in  a  hurried 
whisper,  as  he  glanced  back  at  the  door,  "  you  see,  I 
have  lost  my  situation,  and  now  I  had  to  get  some  of 
my  pay  in  advance  because  the  children  wanted 
shoes,  and  my  wife  had  to  have  things.  You  know 
how  cold  it's  been,  and  she  has  been  coughing,  so 
I  haven't  got  a  single  kopeck  left.  Nobody  else 
would  take  us  in,  and  they  always  want  the  rent 
in  advance.  But  you  know  us.  Just  put  yourself 
in  my  position !  For  God's  sake,  think  what  it 
means  !  " 

"  No,  I  can't !  A  shirt  comes  first,  before  a  coat. 
I'm  very  sorry  for  you,  but  I  can  do  nothing.  You 
had  a  job  that  you  ought  to  have  held  on  to  with 
your  teeth,  and  it's  your  fault  if  you've  lost  it." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know  it's  my  fault,  but  not  the 
children — they're  not  to  blame." 


64       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  The  children  are  your  children,  and  because  of 
that  you  ought  to  have  put  up  with  it." 

"  But  listen  to  me  a  moment,  Maximova  .  .  ." 

"  Where's  the  good  of  listening  ?  "  she  retorted, 
becoming  insolent.  "  What's  the  good  of  humbling 
yourself  to  me  ?  I  can't  help  you.  You  should  have 
talked  like  that  to  them." 

Suddenly  in  the  doorway  a  haggard  female  form 
appeared,  with  dishevelled  hair. 

"  Liosha,  leave  her  alone !  "  she  exclaimed  hysteri- 
cally, "as  if  people  like  that  had  a  spark  of  pity  ! 
Curse  the  lot  of  them  !  They're  not  worth  your  little 
finger,  so  don't  lower  yourself !  " 

"  What  are  you  cursing  about  ?  "  began  Maximova, 
"  perhaps  we  have  more  pity  than  the  likes  of  you  !  " 

"  You've  got  pity  ?  Why,  you're  birds  of  prey, 
not  human  beings.  A  man  is  hard  hit  and  you 
preach  sermons  to  him !  Insult  him  first,  and  then 
kick  him  into  the  street !  Don't  condescend  to 
explain  matters  !  Clear  out  of  this,  the  whole  lot  of 
you  !  "  she  shouted. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  '  out  of  this  '  ?  "  asked 
Maximova,  raising  her  voice ;  "I  needn't  leave  my 
own  house  ..." 

"  Get  out  with  you  !  "  shrieked  the  other,  stretching 
out  her  gaunt  arm  with  a  gesture  that  was  almost 
tragic.  "  What  do  you  want  ?  Do  you  want  us  to 
go  ?  Don't  be  alarmed ;  we're  going — going  to- 
morrow !     But  at  present  just  you  clear  out  !  " 

"  Mashenka,  don't !  "  whispered  her  husband  in 
confusion. 

"  Get  out,  get  out,  curse  you  !  You've  worried  me 
to  death." 


SHEVIRIOF  65 

Seizing  her  hair  with  both  hands,  she  rushed  back 
into  the  room  and  her  husband  hurriedly  followed 
her. 

Then  there  was  -a  sound  of  whispering  and  of  a 
woman's,  excited  talk,  which,  however  was  uninteUi- 
gible. 

Maximova  remained  silent  for  a  moment  and  then 
as  if  she  were  to  blame,  withdrew. 

Aladief  standing  at  the  door  of  his  room,  called  her. 

"  Maximova,  could  you  come  here  a  moment  ?  " 

As  the  old  woman,  looking  utterly  perplexed, 
entered,  he  said  with  a  slight  show  of  hesitation  : 

"  Can't  you  possibly  wait  a  little  while  ?  You  see 
in  what  a  position  they  are,  don't  you  ?  " 

"  My  God  !  I  can  do  nothing,"  was  the  answer, 
"  it's  not  that  I  want  to  be  nasty.  The  dvornik  has 
only  given  me  till  the  day  after  to-morrow  ;  and  if  I 
don't  pay  then,  he'll  turn  me  out.  I  was  counting  on 
their  money." 

"  But  still,  perhaps  you  could  ?  .  .  ." 

"  I  expect  you  think  that  I  am  quite  heartless  ?  I 
am  an  old  woman  and  I  shan't  live  long." 

"  No,"  said  Sergei  Ivanovitch. 

"  When  she  screamed  at  me  like  that,  it  was  like 
stabbing  me  with  a  knife.  But  what  can  I  do  ? 
Here  have  I  been  waiting  for  three  months,  and  I 
went  down  on  my  knees  to  the  dvornik.  Those  who 
are  actually  starving,  live  on  nothing  but  pity,  but 
poor  folk  like  myself,  can't  always  afford  to  pity 
others  ;  there  comes  a  time  when  they  have  to  pity 
themselves.     It's  not  I  that  am  hard  ;  it's  life  itself." 

Aladief  looked  at  the  old  woman  in  amazement. 
Opposed  to  hers,  his  attitude  seemed  so  feeble. 

E 


66       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  Yes,  Sergei  Ivanovitch,"  she  continued,  "  for 
poor  devils  like  us,  it's  more  difficult  to  have  pity 
than  for  other  folk.  A  rich  man,  if  he  gives  away  a 
kopeck,  its  a  pleasure  to  him  ;  but  if  I  give  away  a 
kopeck,  it  means  a  mouthful  less  for  myself,  and  for 
the  sake  of  this  mouthful,  I  shall  soon  be  quite  blind, 
and  never  be  able  to  see  the  sun  again.  And  if 
people  don't  have  pity  upon  me  then,  I  shall  just  die 
in  the  street  like  some  old  dog.  What's  the  good  of 
talking  about  being  hardhearted ;  one  has  got  to 
understand  things  first." 

The  old  woman  sighed.  Aladief  stood  and  listened, 
his  long  arms  hanging  helplessly  at  his  sides. 

"  Look  here,  Maximova,"  he  began  nervously, 
"  suppose  I  pay  you  a  month's  rent,  how  would  that 
be  ?  " 

"  Well — yes,  oh  yes,  that  might  do.  I  am  not 
such  a  monster  after  all.  I'll  manage  to  get  along 
somehow — might  pawn  something,  perhaps.  But 
they've  nothing  to  pawn,  I'm  afraid." 

"  I'll  find  something  for  you,  Maximova,"  mur- 
mured Aladief. 

The  old  woman  looked  hard  at  him : 

"  You  will  ?     You  haven't  got  it." 

"  But  I  can  manage  to  find  the  money — borrow  it 
from  a  friend.  Don't  worry  about  it  any  more 
to-day,  and  meanwhile  I'll  go  and  see  about  it.  It's 
close  by.  Yes  ;  so  let  them  have  tea  and  lights.  See, 
here's  some  tea,  sugar,  and  rolls ;  take  mine  while  I 
run  across." 

Without  a  word  Maximova  took  the  tea  and  sugar 
and  went  out,  shaking  her  grizzled  head. 

Aladief  stood  there  for  a  time  to  collect  his  thoughts. 


SHEVmiOF  67 

He  had  an  impression  that  he  had  managed  things 
rather  clumsily,  but  what  chiefly  concerned  him  was 
how  to  find  the  money  as  soon  as  possible.  Seizing 
his  cloak  and  hat,  he  rushed  downstairs,  taking  three 
steps  at  a  bound. 


CHAPTER  Vm 

About  seven  o'clock,  Vasili  the  tradesman  arrived. 
He  stamped  about  a  long  while  in  the  passage  with 
his  new  goloshes,  carefully  wiped  his  red  face,  and  as 
he  entered  the  room  his  boots  creaked  slightly. 
Maximova  had  already  got  the  samovar  ready,  and 
on  a  plate  she  had  placed  a  herring  and  some  vodka. 
Olienka  was  sitting  at  the  table,  straight  and  slender 
as  a  blade  of  grass.  She  turned  her  large,  melancholy 
eyes  towards  the  door. 

"  Look,  Olienka,  who  is  coming  to  pay  us  a  visit !  " 
said  Maximova  in  an  affectedly  coaxing  voice,  as  if 
speaking  to  a  child.  The  tradesman  in  his  long 
varnished  boots  came  in  as  gingerly  as  if  he  had  been 
walking  on  ice. 

"  Good  evening,"  he  said,  as  he  offered  them  his 
big  hot  hand  with  its  stiff  fingers.  Without  looking 
up,  Olienka  silently  gave  him  her  pale,  slender  one. 

Her  breath  came  quicker  and  her  cheeks  glowed. 

"  That's  right !  While  you  two  have  a  chat,  I'll 
just  go  and  make  the  tea,"  said  Maximova  in  the 
same  forced  voice.  Then  she  went  out,  closing  the 
door  behind  her.  Olienka  remained  seated,  her  hand 
resting  on  the  tray ;  her  figure  with  its  delicate 
outlines  might  have  been  ^vrought  in  marble.  The 
tradesman  sat  opposite  to  her,  massive  and  ponderous 


SHEVIRIOF  69 

as  some  huge  sack  of  flour.  Till  now  he  had  only 
seen  Ohenka  in  church,  or  when  she  came  for  a  moment 
to  his  shop.  He  now  regarded  her  attentively,  as  if 
taking  stock  of  a'  possible  purchase.  Olienka  was 
conscious  of  his  glances  at  her  bosom,  her  feet  and  her 
arms ;  her  pale  cheeks  glowed  for  very  shame  and 
fear.  Refined  and  graceful  as  she  was,  it  seemed 
difl&cult  to  believe  that  her  frail  body  could  be  made 
to  minister  to  bestial  appetites.  The  tradesman's 
eyes  moistened,  and  his  whole  body  seemed  to  become 
suddenly  inflated. 

"  What's  your  favourite  emplojnment  ?  "  he  asked 
in  a  thin  voice  which  could  hardly  emerge  from  his 
bloated  throat.     "  I  didn't  disturb  you,  I  hope." 

"  What  ?  "  exclaimed  Olienka  in  a  startled  tone, 
raising  her  plaintive  eyes. 

*'  Well  I  never,  if  she  isn't  stone  deaf !  "  thought 
the  tradesman.  "  Well,  all  the  better  !  She  is  a  fine 
girl." 

Once  more  he  scrutinized  her  physical  charms, 
noticing  her  soft,  slender  limbs  which  were  plainly 
visible  beneath  her  thin  dress. 

"  I  was  asking  you  what  was  your  favourite 
amusement." 

"  Amusement  ?  I  have  none,"  timidly  repKed 
Olienka. 

The  fat  man  chuckled. 

"  You  don't  say  so  !  Pretty  young  ladies  are  fond 
of  amusements,  I'm  sure.  You  must  excuse  me,  but 
I  can  on  no  account  believe  that  so  charming  a  young 
lady  as  yourself,  sits  working  all  day  long  and  spoiling 
her  eyes.  Your  eyes  were  certainly  never  made  for 
that." 


70       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Olienka  again  looked  at  him  with  her  large  bright 
eyes,  and  it  suddenly  came  into  her  simple  mind  that 
he  was  sympathizing  with  her.  She  felt  convinced 
that  he  was  really  a  good,  decent  fellow. 

"  I'm  fond  of  books,"  she  said  with  a  smile,  "  I  love 
reading." 

"  Oh,  books  !  What  is  there  in  books  ?  When  we 
get  to  know  each  other  a  little  better,  then  you  must 
let  me  take  you  to  the  theatre.  That  will  be  more 
interesting  than  poring  over  books." 

Olienka  suddenly  became  more  animated,  and  she 
blushed  slightly. 

"  Oh,  no  !  How  can  you  say  that  ?  Some  books 
are  so  beautiful ;  Tchekov's  for  instance.  Whenever 
I  read  anything  by  Tchekov  I  always  cry.  Everybody 
in  his  books  is  so  poor,  so  much  to  be  pitied." 

The  tradesman  listened ;  his  head  with  its  low 
brow  and  muddy  eyes,  was  bent  sideways. 

"  All  of  them  aren't  really  so  unhappy,"  he  observed 
in  a  honeyed  voice ;  "  there  are  happy  ones  too.  Of 
course,  if  they've  nothing  to  eat.  ,  .  .  But  take  a 
man  like  myself,  for  instance  .  .  ."  he  pushed  his 
chair  closer  to  Olienka,  eyed  her  bosom,  and  seemed 
ready  to  speak  at  greater  length.  His  whole  mien 
became  more  familiar,  but  Olienka  began  in  her 
simple,  dreamy  way  : 

"  Oh  no  !  Human  beings  are  all  unhappy.  Even 
those  who  think  they're  happy,  aren't  really  so.  I 
should  love  to  be  a  Sister  of  Mercy,  and  help  all 
those  who  are  in  trouble  ;   or  a  nun  .  .  ." 

"  Come  no)v,  why  should  you  want  to  be  a  nun  ?  " 
interposed  the  tradesman,  with  an  odious  leer, 
"  aren't  there  men  enough  to  go  round  ?  " 


SHEVmiOF  71 

Olienka  failed  to  catch  his  meaning.  She  had 
never  in  her  hfe  lent  an  ear  to  such  suggestive  talk ; 
thus  she  understood  nothing. 

"  Oh,  to  be  a  nun  would  be  beautiful !  "  she 
exclaimed  dreamily.  "  I  once  stayed  for  a  fortnight 
with  my  aunt  at  Voronesh,  in  the  convent.  My  aunt 
is  a  nun ;  she  is  very  old.  She  hasn't  spoken  for 
fourteen  years.  Such  a  saint  she  is !  It  was  so 
beautiful  there  !  The  church  was  so  quiet  with  all 
the  candles  burning,  and  the  lovely  singing !  One 
hardly  knew  if  one  was  on  earth  or  in  heaven  !  The 
convent  is  on  a  mountain,  and  from  the  terrace  you 
can  look  down  on  the  river  and  the  fields  beyond,  for 
ever  so  far.  You  can  hear  the  geese  cackling  in  the 
meadows,  and  the  swallows  twittering  all  round.  I 
was  there  in  springtime,  when  the  apple-trees  were 
in  blossom,  and  it  was  all  so  beautiful  that  I  some- 
times longed  to  be  a  bird,  so  that  I  could  soar  above 
the  mountain-tops,  away,  away  !  " 

Her  voice  trembled  with  emotion,  and  with  her 
wrapt  expression  and  quivering  lips,  she  seemed  like 
some  white  vestal. 

He  listened  to  her,  his  blubber  lips  parted,  and  his 
head  with  its  fat,  red  neck  aslant  like  a  bull's. 

"H'm !  "  said  he,  "  that's  all  very  fine  I  dare  say, 
but  in  the  world  a  pretty  girl  can  get  all  sorts  of 
amusement  without  going  to  a  convent  for  it."  He 
sniggered  as  he  said  this,  and  leered  amorously  at 
Ohenka.  But  the  leer  was  lost  upon  her.  Her  gaze 
was  fixed  in  imagination  upon  spacious  meadows, 
broad  rivers,  and  white  convent- walls  domed  by  the 
vast  blue  sky.  Maximova  now  came  in  with  the 
samovar. 


72       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Unbuttoned  in  demeanour,  and  perspiring  freely, 
the  tradesman  felt  as  if  anointed  with  oil. 

"  I  love  to  see  girls  with  a  slender  waist  like  yours, 
Olga  Ivanovna !  I  can't  think  how  you  women 
manage  it.  It's  just  as  if  you  could  span  it  with 
your  fingers,  but  lower  down,  pardon  the  liberty,  it's 
so  round  ..."  The  last  words  came  to  him  suddenly, 
for  he  had  meant  to  say  something  else,  so  that  his 
face  flushed  and  he  caught  his  breath.  In  fact  he 
had  stretched  out  his  hand  involuntarily,  but  on 
seeing  Maximova  enter,  he  drew  it  back.  Then  he 
mopped  his  perspiring  forehead. 

With  Maximova  he  then  drank  vodka  and  ate 
some  of  the  herring,  facetiously  observing  that  all 
girls  began  by  dreaming  of  convents,  but  if  they  got 
married  and  their  husbands  were  old  or  impotent, 
they  soon  killed  them  off.  "^ 

"  Yes,  that's  true,"  replied  the  old  woman,  bustling 
about,  "  but  they  could  never  say  that  of  you,  Vasili 
Stepanovitch,  you're  still  going  strong." 

The  tradesman  burst  out  laughing,  and  fixed  his 
lustful  gaze  upon  Olienka. 

"  Yes,  I  can  safely  say  that's  true !  My  late 
lamented  certainly  had  nothing  to  complain  of.  '  Oh, 
you  bull ! '  she  used  to  say  to  me,  and  get  quite 
cross,"  and  he  laughed  again  while  staring  at  Olienka. 

Her  pale  little  face  grew  paler  and  more  discon- 
solate beneath  his  ruttish  glance ;  and  his  fat,  trium- 
phant, bestial  laugh  was  horrible  to  hear. 

When  the  tradesman  had  gone,  and  Maximova,  a 
little  tipsy  now,  had  shown  him  out,  Olienka  broke 
down  and  sobbed.  For  a  long  time  she  wept,  her 
blonde  head  hung  forward  and  her  soft  shoulders 


SHEVIRIOF  73 

shook,    while    little    locks    of    her    dishevelled    hair 
resembled  shining  feathers  in  the  wind. 

The  air  was  heavy  with  the  odour  of  herrings,  wet 
leather  and  sweat,  and  the  girl's  form  seemed  strangely- 
small  and  fragile. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Aladief  had  come  home,  and  was  writing  at  his 
table  when  Olienka  entered  his  room.  It  was  full 
of  tobacco-smoke.  She  came  there  in  her  usual 
quiet,  timid  way,  shook  hands,  and  sat  down  at  the 
table,  so  that  her  face  remained  in  shadow  and  only 
her  hands  were  in  the  lamplight. 

"  Well,  what  is  it,  Olga  Ivanovna  ? "  he  asked 
kindly. 

Olienka  was  silent. 

"  Did  you  read  my  books  ?  And  did  you  like 
them  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

"  Yes,"  she  replied  faintly. 

"  That's  good,"  said  Aladief.  "  Look,  I  have  got 
another  nice  story  for  you  here.  The  heroine  is  like 
you,  sweet  and  gentle,  and  she  goes  into  a  convent, 
as  you  want  to  do." 

Olienka  shuddered,  as  if  with  cold. 

"  I'm  not  going  into  a  convent,"  she  faltered. 

Aladief  noticed  how  her  lips  quivered. 

"  Thank  goodness  !  "  he  said  gaily,  "  and  why 
not  ?  " 

Olienka  looked  down  as  she  answered  in  a  whisper, 

I  am  going  to  be  married." 

Married  ?     This  is  a  surprise  !     To  whom  ?  "  he 
asked,  as  the  expression  of  his  face  changed. 


SHEVmiOF  75 

"  To  Vasili  Stepanovitch,  who  has  a  shop  in  our 
house." 

"  Oh,  to  him  !  "  exclaimed  Aladief,  with  a  look  of 
pity  and  disgust.  Recovering  himself,  however,  he 
said  with  an  effort  to  be  cheery  ; 

"  Oh,  that's  good  news  !    I  must  congratulate  you." 

Olienka  was  silent.  Her  fingers  moved  slightly, 
and  she  looked  at  the  floor.  As  Aladief  watched  her, 
he  pictured  to  himself  that  bestial-looking  shop- 
keeper beside  this  delicate,  frail  little  woman.  Pity, 
disgust,  and  jealousy  all  took  possession  of  his  soul. 

Olienka  apparently  wished  to  speak,  but  could  not. 
Aladief  felt  strangely  moved. 

"  What  were  you  going  to  say  ?  "  he  asked. 

Again  her  lips  quivered,  and  she  suddenly  rose  to 

go- 

"  Where  are  you   going  ?     Sit  down,   do  !  "   said 

Aladief,  getting  up  also.     But  still  Olienka  remained 

speechless,  clasping  her  soft  little  hands. 

"  Sit  down  again,"  he  repeated,  conscious  that  the 
right  words  failed  him. 

"  No,  I  must  go." 

"  Then,  good-bye !  How  extraordinary  you  are 
lately  !  "  he  exclaimed.  Again  she  looked  at  him 
with  her  large  mournful  eyes,  and  then  suddenly 
went  to  the  door. 

"  Then  you  won't  take  the  books  ? "  he  asked 
mechanically. 

Olienka  stopped. 

"  I  shan't  want  them  any  more,"  she  faltered,  as 
she  opened  the  door,  but  on  the  threshold  she  again 
stood  still,  meditating.  He  saw  her  shoulders  heave, 
yet  he  said  nothing,  and  she  went  out.     Aladief  knew 


76       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

that  her  going  was  final,  when  she  might  have  stayed 
with  him  always.  He  stood  there  in  his  room  with 
an  aching  heart.  He  could  see  that  the  girl  in  her 
dire  distress  had  come  to  him  for  help,  and  he  slowly 
began  to  comprehend  the  words  that  she  had  expected 
him  to  utter. 

There  was  a  sharp  knock  at  the  door. 

"  Come  in  !  "  said  Aladief  cordially,  for  he  thought 
that  Olienka  had  come  back.  The  door  opened  and 
Sheviriof  entered. 

"  Can  I  speak  to  you  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  cold,  almost 
an  official  voice. 

"  Oh,  it's  you  !  "  said  Aladief  in  a  tone  of  welcome  ; 
"  why,  of  course.     Do  sit  down." 

"  I  only  came  in  just  for  a  moment,  to  have  a  word 
with  you,"  said  the  other,  taking  the  same  seat  that 
Olienka  had  just  left. 

"  Will  you  have  a  cigarette  ?  " 

"  I  don't  smoke.  Tell  me,  have  you  been  giving 
Maximova  money  for  the  teacher  ?  "  He  asked  the 
question  quickly,  as  if  a  matter  of  great  importance 
depended  upon  it. 

Aladief  became  confused  and  turned  red. 

"  Yes,  I  did  ;  that's  to  say,  for  the  moment — until 
they  get  a  bit  straight." 

Sheviriof  looked  hard  at  him. 

"  Do  you  intend  to  help  all  poor  hungry  folk — 
all  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  replied  Aladief  in  astonishment.  "  I  really 
have  never  thought  about  it.  I  simply  helped  because 
there  was  the  opportunity." 

"  Quite  so,  but  where's  the  good  ?  There  are 
heaps  of  people  like  that." 


SHEVIRIOF  77 


(( 


Well,  one  mustn't  think  about  that.  One  must 
help  when  one  can,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.  Thank 
God  if  we  can  !  "     . 

"  Good  !  And  do  you  know  why  that  girl  came 
to  see  you  ?  "  continued  Sheviriof,  as  if  he  were  the 
priest  in  a  confessional.  Aladief  flushed  once  more. 
The  strange  tone  and  the  strange  questions  annoyed 
him. 

"  I  don't  know,"  he  said. 

"  She  came  to  you  because  she  is  in  love  with 
you.  Because  her  soul  is  pure,  and  it  is  you  that 
have  awakened  it.  Now  in  her  extremity  she  comes 
to  you  in  quest  of  that  moral  rectitude  that  you 
have  taught  her  to  love ;  yet  what  were  you  able  to 
tell  her  ?  Nothing  !  you,  the  dreamer,  the  idealist  ! 
I  ask  you  to  conceive  what  inhuman  torture  you  have 
provided  for  her  !  Are  you  not  afraid  that  when 
she  has  wedded  that  brutal  lump  of  flesh,  she  will 
curse  you  all  for  having  hoodwinked  her  with  your 
golden  dreams  of  a  happy  life  ?  I  tell  you  it's 
horrible  ;  yes,  it  is  horrible  when  one  digs  up  corpses 
to  show  them  their  own  corruption.  I  say  it  is 
horrible  to  make  of  the  human  soul  something  pure 
and  costly,  only  in  order  that  its  tortures  may  be 
more  refined,  and  its  griefs  more  acute." 

"  You  are  wrong,"  murmured  Aladief,  replying  to 
the  statement,  "  because  she  is  in  love  with  you." 

"  No,  I'm  sure  of  it.  All  day  long  I  have  been 
sitting  in  my  dark  room.  I  can  hear  everything 
there.     It  is  true." 

Aladief  was  silent  and  looked  downwards. 

"  You  are  always  dreaming  of  the  future  happiness 
of  mankind,"  continued  Sheviriof,  as  he  rose,  "  but 


78       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

do  you  know,  have  you  any  clear  conception  through 
what  a  stream  of  blood  you  must  wade  towards  this 
future  ?  You  are  deceiving  people.  You  let  them 
dream  of  something  they  will  never  experience.  You 
let  them  live  and  become  food  for  swine,  these  swine 
that  grunt  and  squeal  with  delight  that  their  victim 
is  so  tender  and  beautiful,  so  super-sensitive  to  all 
the  sufferings  it  must  undergo.  Can't  you  under- 
stand that  all  your  fantastic  dreams  of  the  future, 
even  though  they  should  some  day  be  realized,  would 
never  outweigh  the  ocean  filled  with  the  tears  of  all  such 
hapless  maidens,  and  downtrodden,  starving  folk  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  stammered  out  Aladief. 

After  a  pause  Sheviriof  said  : 

"  Come  this  way  "  ;  and  he  went  out  of  the  room, 
Aladief  follow' ig  him  as  if  hypnotized.  The  whole 
house  seemed  wrapped  in  slumber.  Sheviriof  opened 
the  door  of  his  room  and  beckoned  to  Aladief  to 
come  in. 

"  Hark  !  "  he  whispered. 

At  first  Aladief  heard  nothing  but  the  sound  of 
his  own  beating  heart.  In  the  darkness  he  could 
see  nothing.     Then  he  heard  a  faint  sound  of  weeping. 

"It  is  Olienka  !  "  he  thought,  but  then  he  could 
distinguish  a  dual  sound  as  of  two  voices,  then  three, 
then  a  dozen — a  thousand  voices,  joined  in  one  common 
lament. 

"  What  is  that  ?  "  he  asked  in  amazement. 

But  Sheviriof  did  not  reply. 

"  Come  out  !  "  he  said  roughly,  as  he  grasped  the 
other's  hand,  and  they  went  back  into  the  lighted 
room.  Releasing  Aladief's  hand,  Sheviriof  looked 
him  full  in  the  face. 


SHEVIRIOF  79 

*'  Did  you  hear  that  ?  "  he  said.  "  I  can't  bear  to 
listen  to  it.  What  are  you  going  to  give  to  these 
people  instead  of  your  golden  future  which  you 
promise  them  ?  You  prophets  of  the  coming  race  ! 
Curse  you  all !  " 

Amazed  and  indignant,  Aladief  exclaimed  : 

"  And  who  are  you,  if  you  please  ?  You  that 
ask  like  this,  what  will  you  give  ?  " 

He  clenched  his  powerful  hands. 

"  /  .?  "  asked  Sheviriof,  almost  mockingly. 

"  Yes,  you !  What  right  have  you  to  speak  in 
this  way  to  me  ?  " 

"  /  shall  give  nothing.  It  may  be  that  I  shall 
remind  others  only  of  what  they  have  forgotten. 
Yes  ;    but  that  won't  suffice  !  " 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  What's  that  you  say  ?  " 
Aladief  felt  suddenly  alarmed. 

Sheviriof  smiled,  as  if  astonished  at  the  simplicity 
of  such  a  question,  and  he  slowly  moved  to  the 
door. 

"  Stop  !  "  cried  Aladief.     "  Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

Sheviriof  looked  round,  nodded,  and  went  out. 

"  Look  here  !  I  say  !  you  must  be  simply  mad  !  " 
cried  Aladief  in  a  fury.  He  thought  he  could  hear 
Sheviriof  s  laugh  as  the  door  closed.  For  a  moment 
he  remained  standing  there,  his  heart  beating  violently, 
and  his  head  throbbing.  He  flung  himself  on  his 
bed  and  buried  his  face  in  the  pillow. 

In  the  darkness  the  vision  of  a  fair  face  with  large, 
questioning,  tearful  eyes,  rose  up  before  him.  Then 
something  black  and  monstrous  approached,  that 
with  bestial  laughter  destroyed  his  joyous,  radiant 
dream. 


CHAPTER  X 

It  was  night,  and  in  the  house  all  was  silent  as  the 
tomb.  Through  Sheviriof  s  open  window  the  light 
beyond  showed  faint  and  grey.  Suddenly  he  trembled 
violently  and  opened  his  eyes.  Immediately  opposite 
him,  at  the  foot  of  the  bed,  stood  a  female  form.  It 
was  that  of  the  wife  that  he  had  once  loved  and  who 
had  passed  over  to  that  place  from  which,  as  he 
believed,  there  was  no  return. 

"  Lisa  !  "  he  cried,  "  whence  do  you  come  ?  What 
grieves  you  ?  " 

With  its  face  buried  in  its  hands,  the  figure  seemed 
to  sway  slightly.  Suddenly  Sheviriof  knew  why  it 
had  come. 

It  was  because  his  wife  foresaw  all  that  was  to 
happen,  and,  moved  by  a  love  that  is  stronger  than 
death,  she  desired  on  this  last  night  of  his  life  to 
mourn  for  him. 

"  Lisa,  do  not  weep  !  "  he  cried  in  a  tone  of  entreaty, 
though  he  felt  that  words  were  useless,  and  that  she 
could  never  answer.  He  held  out  his  hands  to  her, 
but  with  its  face  still  covered,  the  phantom  retreated 
and  slowly  vanished.  But  for  a  time  he  seemed  to 
see  the  dark  blouse,  the  same  in  which  he  last  saw 
her  alive  ;  those  slender  fingers,  and  her  hair  done 
in  the  old  charming  way. 


SHEVIRIOF  81 

Leaping  out  of  bed,  he  rushed  to  the  door  and 
touched  it,  as  though  unable  to  beHeve  his  own 
senses. 

"  An  apparition-!  "  he  thought ;  "  I  must  be  ill. 
Perhaps  I'm  going  mad  !  What  if  all  my  thoughts  and 
aspirations  are  but  the  product  of  a  diseased  brain  ?  " 

Then  he  walked  firmly  yet  silently  across  the  room 
and  lay  down.  Yet,  after  a  while,  he  suddenly  started 
up,  and  held  his  breath.  Down  below  somewhere, 
yet  not  in  the  house  itself,  he  could  hear  cautious 
steps.     Some  one  seemed  to  be  coming  upstairs. 

The  steps  came  nearer  and  nearer,  and  the  sound 
was  that  of  heavy  boots  on  the  stone  staircase. 
Sheviriof  sat  up  in  bed  and  listened.  Some  one 
stood  before  the  door,  and  appeared  to  be  listening 
also.  There  was  a  long  silence,  and  at  last  Sheviriof 
thought  that  it  was  only  the  blood  beating  in  his 
temples. 

"  It's  only  my  imagination,"  he  said  to  himself, 
as  he  lay  back  on  the  pillow  with  a  sense  of  relief. 
But  at  the  same  moment,  with  eyes  wide  opened, 
and  just  as  if  he  had  been  hurled  out  of  bed,  he 
suddenly  stood  barefoot  on  the  cold  flooring  of  his 
room.  A  faint  sound,  as  of  clanking  iron,  could  be 
heard.  They  were  trying  to  open  the  house-door. 
Like  a  ghost,  he  hurriedly  put  on  his  clothes,  and 
as  he  was  fastening  up  his  boots  he  heard  another 
noise.  Motionless  he  listened  again,  and  then  began 
to  dress  in  even  greater  haste.  He  could  hear  several 
people  cautiously  ascending  the  stairs. 

"  They  are  coming  !  " 

For  a  moment  he  stood  there  irresolute,  then  having 
put  on  his  hat  and  cloak,  he  opened  the  door  and 


82       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

looked  out  into  the  passage.  An  idea  flashed  Hke 
lightning  through  his  brain.  He  recollected  that  the 
window  of  the  kitchen,  in  which  he  had  recently 
gone  to  get  water,  was  close  to  the  fireproof  wall  of 
the  adjoining  house.  It  was  not  a  double  window. 
He  crept  along  the  passage  like  a  cat,  and  stopped 
for  a  moment  at  the  corner  of  it  where  the  two  old 
people  slept.  He  could  hear  them  snoring  feebly 
behind  the  curtain ;  then  he  noiselessly  opened  the 
kitchen  door.  In  the  kitchen  it  was  quite  light.  On 
the  hearth  he  noticed  the  gleam  of  crockery  ;  a  cold 
samovar  on  the  table  seemed  as  if  it  were  asleep. 
The  cat  jumped  off  the  stove  on  to  the  floor,  and 
purring,  with  tail  erect,  ran  away.  There  was  an 
odour  of  charcoal  and  of  sour  cabbage  soup.  Sheviriof 
went  to  the  window  and  looked  out.  Through  the 
dim,  dusty  panes  he  could  hardly  see  anything  except 
a  strip  of  luminous  cloud,  and  a  grey,  perpendicular 
wall.  He  looked  round  once  more  and  gently  opened 
the  window.  The  stone  pavement  lay  far  beneath 
him,  white  and  gleaming.  Again  he  turned  his  head 
and  listened  intently.  At  that  moment  the  bell  rang ; 
a  living  warning  that  seemed  to  disturb  the  slumber 
and  the  silence  of  the  whole  world.  Carefully  and 
dexterously  Sheviriof  clambered  on  to  the  leads 
outside  the  window,  glanced  at  the  awful  abyss,  and 
jumped  off.  As  by  a  miracle  he  alighted,  dazed  and 
trembling,  on  the  roof  below,  and,  crawling  down  its 
slanting  sides,  he  disappeared.  The  sky  looked  coldly 
down  on  this  vast  forest  of  chimneys,  while  beyond 
them,  at  the  horizon's  edge,  there  was  a  glimpse  of 
the  sea,  its  dark  blue  colour  slowly  paling  in  the 
light  of  the  coming  day. 


CHAPTER  XI 

At  the  shrill  sound  of  the  bell,  which  seemed  to  be 
ringing  in  his  room,  Aladief  awoke  with  a  start. 
Instinctively  he  put  out  his  hand  for  a  cigarette,  yet 
at  the  same  moment  he  felt  a  pang  at  his  heart,  and 
as  he  groped  for  the  matches,  he  sat  up  and  listened 
anxiously.  He  could  hear  Maximova  moving  about 
in  her  room,  as  she  yawned  while  putting  on  her  gown, 
bumping  against  something,  and  shuffling  along  the 
passage. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  she  asked  in  a  sleepy,  suspicious 
voice.    "  A  telegram  *  ?    For  whom  is  the  telegram  ?  " 

Perhaps  she  received  a  reply,  but  in  so  low  a  voice 
that  Aladief  could  not  hear  what  was  said. 

"  There  they  are  !  "  he  said  to  himself,  as  a  whirl- 
wind of  fears  and  presentiments  rushed  through 
his  brain.  The  little  parcel  and  the  papers  which 
the  hawk-faced  manikin  had  left  in  his  possession 
suddenly  rose  up  before  his  eyes  and  assumed  hideous 
dimensions. 

He  almost  shouted  out  to  Maximova  not  to  open 
the  door,  and,  leaping  out  of  bed,  he  rushed  into  the 
passage.  But  there,  clear  and  inevitable,  came  the 
grating  sound  of  the  bolt  being  withdrawn,  and  the 

*  "  A  telegram  "  is  the  usual  reply  to  a  landlord's  enquiry  when 
the  Russian  police  raid  a  hquse  at  midnight. 


84       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

dull  beat  of  many  human  feet  in  heavy  iron-heeled 
boots.  In  a  moment  the  whole  world  seemed  to  have 
been  roused,  and  shrill  whistles  and  cries  broke  the 
silence.  Clad  in  his  shirt,  Aladief,  looking  gaunt  and 
haggard,  rushed  wildly  about  the  room.  Everything 
in  it  could  now  be  clearly  discerned.  A  moment 
before  it  had  appeared  to  be  plunged  in  darkness, 
but  now  in  the  grey  light  of  dawn  he  could  see  the 
table  with  his  unfinished  work  upon  it,  his  cigarettes, 
the  boots  under  the  bed,  and  the  pictures  on  the 
walls.  All  looked  exactly  as  usual,  neat  and  cosy 
and  nice. 

"  But  whom  do  you  want  to  see  ?  "  asked  Maxi- 
mova's  trembling  voice. 

The  answer  to  her  question  could  not  be  heard. 
Then  the  old  woman  uttered  a  shriek,  and  clasped 
her  hands  in  despair. 

Immediately  afterwards  the  tramp  of  heavy  foot- 
steps could  be  heard  along  the  passage.  Without 
reflecting  why  or  wherefore,  Aladief  rushed  to  the 
door  and  noiselessly  turned  the  key.  Then  he  seized 
the  parcel  lying  on  the  table,  which  seemed  as  heavy 
as  a  thousand  hundredweight,  held  it  for  a  moment 
in  his  hand,  and  rushed  to  the  window. 

"  It  will  explode  !  No  matter  !  "  he  thought,  as 
he  stood  at  the  half-opened  window  through  which 
came  a  breath  of  soft,  fresh  morning  air.  "  No 
matter  !  Later  on,  one  can  deny  all  knowledge  of 
it." 

In  feverish  confusion  he  thrust  the  packet  through 
the  open  window,  and  for  a  moment  it  hung  four 
storeys  high  above  the  pavement  below.  He  was 
about  to  unclasp  his  fingers  when  another  thought 


SHEVIRIOF  85 

darted  through  his  brain ;  a  thought  so  desperate,  so 
horrible,  that  he  moaned  hke  some  wounded  animal. 

"  What  am  I  doing  ?  The  papers,  the  addresses  ! 
They'd  find  them  all  in  the  yard,  down  below  !  Burn 
them  ?  •  There's  no  time  !  Then,  am  I  to  perish  in 
order  to  save  others  ?  But  I  told  them  what  I 
thought !  I  begged  them  to  leave  me  alone.  .  .  . 
What  right  have  they  now  to  count  upon  me  ?  " 

The  whole  household  was  roused  by  this  time. 
Somewhere  children  began  crying ;  there  were  excla- 
mations of  astonishment,  and  groans.  Next  door,  in 
Sheviriof's  room,  loud,  angry  voices  could  be  heard 
as  the  furniture  was  being  noisily  moved  about. 

"  Must  have  cleared  out.  .  .  .Perhaps  he's  run 
across  to  a  neighbour,  sir.  ...  A  student  ?  For 
God's  sake,  keep  that  gun  out  of  my  way  !  You're 
surely  not  going  to  shoot  us  all !  "       j 

Suddenly  some  one  knocked  at  Aladief's  door.  The 
knocking  was  so  resolute  and  so  courteous  that  he 
could  almost  imagine  who  it  was  on  the  other  side 
of  the  bolted  door  :  a  polite  officer  of  the  police, 
smooth-mannered,  with  pitiless,  transparent  eyes. 
Then,  moving  noiselessly  from  the  window,  he  placed 
the  bomb  on  the  table,  picked  it  up  again  and  very 
nearly  dropped  it.  Then  he  thrust  it  under  the 
mattress. 

There  was  another  knock  at  the  door. 

"Be  so  good  as  to  open  the  door  for  a  moment," 
said  an  unknown  voice.  The  tone  of  it  was  flattering, 
and  yet  uncanny.  Aladief  did  not  answer.  His 
inborn,  lifelong  hatred  of  such  people  utterly  over- 
came him,  and  without  waiting  to  reflect  upon  the 
consequences  of  his  act,  he  knelt  down  in  front  of 


86       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  black  stove  door,  and  with  feverish  haste  began 
to  tear  up  the  papers.  The  little  iron  door  creaked 
plaintively  on  its  hinges,  and  the  noise  of  the  rustling 
papers  seemed  to  echo  through  the  house. 

"  Open  the  door  at  once,  or  we'll  break  it  down  !  " 
cried  a  stern,  angry  voice. 

There  were  evidently  others  outside  the  door  now, 
and  suddenly  a  violent  battery  began  against  it. 

"  I  shall  be  too  late  !  "  he  thought  in  an  agony. 
He  pictured  to  himself  the  fate  of  all  those  upon 
which  the  destruction  of  these  papers  depended. 
Should  their  lives  be  forfeited,  or  his  ?  In  a  moment 
the  whole  gigantic  work  which  meant  the  implicit 
surrender  of  hundreds  of  young  pure  souls  flashed 
across  his  mind,  and  a  crowd  of  familiar  faces  seemed 
turned  towards  him  with  hope  shining  in  their  eyes. 
He  felt  that  the  part  he  played  himself  was  but  small 
and  insignificant.  "  What  matter  ?  "  said  a  voice 
within  him,  a  warm  voice  full  of  tears  and  ecstasy ; 
"  be  it  so  !     Better  that  I,  not  they.  .  .  ." 

There  was  now  a  crowd  outside  the  door,  as  if 
not  human  beings,  but  a  horde  of  wild  beasts  were 
about  to  burst  it  open. 

"  Open  the  door  at  once !  Surrender  I "  cried 
several  voices. 

Suddenly  wild  rage  seemed  to  overcome  Aladief. 
He  longed  to  shout  them  down,  to  sing,  to  whistle, 
and  to  hurl  at  them  the  maddest  and  most  obscene 
insults.  How  a  heavy  revolver  got  into  his  hand 
he  could  not  tell.  Perhaps  he  had  seized  it  at  the 
same  time  as  the  papers  on  the  table. 

"  Surrender !  Come  on,  let's  smash  the  door 
down  !  " 


SHEVIRIOF  87 

*'  Smash  away,  and  be  damned  to  you  I  "  he  roared, 
as  he  looked  round  at  the  door  while  tearing  the 
papers  to  shreds. 

Then  all  at  once  the  door  gave  way  with  a  crash. 
There  vas  a  broad  cleft  in  its  white  surface.  Splinters 
of  wood  flew  here  and  there,  and  the  key  fell  jingling 
to  the  floor.  There  was  a  murmur  of  voices,  and  a 
dark  form  preceded  by  a  shining  gun-barrel  thrust 
itself  through  the  aperture.  Aladief  fired.  There 
was  a  yellow  flash,  followed  by  a  piercing  cry  as  some- 
one fell  backwards  with  a  heavy  thud. 

"  Seize  him,  seize  him  !  He  has  got  a  revolver  !  " 
they  shouted. 

Crouching  down,  Aladief  fired  through  the  hole  in 
the  door  again  and  again.  He  knew  nothing  and 
felt  nothing  more  now,  save  wild  elemental  hatred  ; 
hatred  that  was  inhuman,  such  as  that  with  which 
one  crushes  a  poisonous  reptile  under  foot  or  slays  a 
foe.  Then  came  a  volley  of  shots  through  the  gap, 
striking  the  stove  door  that  jingled,  while  a  picture 
fell  from  a  nail  amid  clouds  of  white  dust.  Aladief 
sprang  aside,  crouching  close  to  the  wall,  and  by 
degrees  reached  the  door.  To  him  it  seemed  as  if 
the  shots  hit  him  full  in  the  face,  but,  leaping  to  the 
door,  he  fired  twice,  almost  touching  his  victims  with 
the  barrel  of  his  revolver.  There  was  a  deafening 
shriek,  and  the  firing  ceased. 

"  Aha !  "  screamed  Aladief,  in  delirious  delight. 
With  every  fibre  of  his  being  he  longed  to  go  on  shoot- 
ing and  killing  for  ever. 

"  Stop,  let's  get  at  him  through  the  other  room ! " 
cried  several  voices. 

With  all  his  might  Aladief  thrust  the  heavy  chest  of 


88       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

drawers  in  front  of  the  shattered  door.  Then  he  rushed 
back  to  the  stove  and  set  fire  to  the  pile  of  torn-up 
papers.  There  was  a  cheerful  blaze,  as  the  flames 
playfully  darted  out  into  the  room  now  wrecked  by 
bullets.  With  his  back  to  the  wall  Aladief  surveyed 
the  scene.  His  cosy  little  room  presented  a  strangely 
sad  appearance.  A  lamp  lay  on  the  floor  in  a  pool  of 
petroleum ;  riddled  by  a  bullet,  the  picture  of  Tolstoy 
hung  sideways  ;  in  every  corner  white  fragments  of 
plaster  were  scattered  about,  and  delicate  wreaths 
of  blue  smoke  floated  out  through  one  of  the  broken 
window-panes. 

Aladief  believed  that  he  had  gone  mad,  and  that  all 
this  could  not  really  have  happened.  Only  yesterday, 
in  fact  only  a  few  hours  ago,  he  had  been  sitting  at  this 
table,  writing,  surrounded  by  his  books  and  pictures 
and  papers.  Unspeakable  anguish  overwhelmed  him ; 
and,  as  he  gazed  at  his  belongings,  he  tore  his  hair. 
All  his  future  life,  with  its  interests  and  its  love  of  work 
and  of  human  beings,  with  its  promise  of  joyous  days, 
passed  swiftly  before  his  eyes  ;  the  life  that  should 
have  been  his,  but  would  never  be. 

"  Death  !  "  said  a  voice  within  him,  a  voice  of 
despair. 

"  Yet  why  ?  What  had  happened  ?  A  stupid 
accident,  that's  all."  He  had  just  time  for  this 
reflection. 

Heavy  blows  now  fell  like  hail  upon  the  door  that 
led  into  the  adjoining  room,  and  something  heavy  was 
draggedalong  the  passage.  More  shots  were  fired,  and 
plaster  fell  from  the  ceiling,  while  splinters  of  wood 
struck  Aladief  in  his  face  which  was  soon  covered 
with  blood. 


SHEVIRIOF  89 

"  Aha  I "  he  thought  with  strange  and  deadly 
calmness,  "  if  that's  their  game  "  .  .  .  . 

With  a  muffled  cry  he  leapt  like  a  cat  towards 
the  bed,  and  felt  beneath  the  mattress  for  the  bomb. 
Then  a  voice  which  sounded  as  if  it  were  close  to  his 
ear,  shouted  "  Fire  !  " 

Aladief  never  heard  the  shots.  There  was  a  brilliant 
flash ;  the  whole  room  seemed  to  fly  aloft,  and 
Aladief  fell  flat  on  his  back  on  the  floor.  Then  there 
was  silence  ;  a  moment  of  awful  suspense.  Pale-faced 
gendarmes,  with  rifles  in  their  hands,  peered  into  the 
room.  The  blue  smoke  still  floated  out  in  delicate 
coils  through  the  broken  window-pane,  behind  which 
the  radiant  dawn  arose.  Aladief  lay  there  in  the 
middle  of  his  room,  his  face  turned  upwards,  his 
arms  flung  out,  and  his  long  legs  drawn  up.  Blue 
and  dabbled  with  blood,  his  nose  pointed  to  the 
ceiling,  while  from  his  head  something  dark  flowed 
gently  over  the  floor. 


CHAPTER  XII 

With  upturned  coat-collar,  and  hands  thrust  deep 
in  his  pockets,  Sheviriof  walked  along  the  street. 
At  every  corner  men  were  selling  newspapers,  while 
shouting  out  as  if  to  praise  their  wares. 

"  Tragedy  in  the  Mochovaia !  Terrible  shooting 
affray  with  anarchists  !  " 

Sheviriof  bought  a  paper,  and  as  he  sat  in  the 
Yekaterinensky  Park,  he  read  a  full  report,  to  the 
sound  of  children's  voices  playing  all  round  him. 

"  It  appears  that  the  anarchist  who  escaped  by 
the  window  and  who  passed  as  the  peasant  Nikolai 
Yegorof  Sheviriof  is,  according  to  police  information, 
no  other  than  the  university  student,  Leonid  Nikolaie- 
vitch  Tokariof,  for  whom  the  authorities  have  long 
been  searching.  He  had  been  condemned  to  death, 
but  while  being  conveyed  to  prison  he  managed  to 
escape.  Prompt  measures  have  been  taken  to  secure 
his  re-arrest." 

Sheviriof's  face  betrayed  not  the  slightest  emotion. 
Only  at  the  passage  where  the  reporter  described  with 
much  exaggeration  of  phrase,  the  finding  of  Aladief's 
body,  his  eyes  flashed,  which  might  have  been  from 
pity,  or  from  insensate  fury.  Then  he  got  up,  and 
with  a  careless  glance  at  the  scuffling  children,  left 
the  park. 


SHEVIRIOF  91 

The  strain  on  his  nerves  was  extraordinary,  and  he 
felt  irresistibly  impelled  to  go  "  back  there."  He 
clearly  saw  that  there  was  every  chance  of  his  being 
recognized  and  captured  by  the  police.  Amid  the 
crowds  of  people  who  carelessly  hurried  past  him, 
he  already  felt  that  invisible  hands  were  slowly, 
inevitably  encircling  him  with  a  ring  of  death.  It 
was  evident  that  he  could  neither  get  away  from  the 
town  nor  wander  about  the  streets.  He  was  hungry ; 
and  he  shivered  with  cold  like  a  lost  dog.  But  it  was 
just  this  feeling  of  being  hunted  like  some  animal  which 
roused  in  him  defiance  and  scorn. 

"  What  do  I  care  ?  "  he  thought,  as  with  head  erect 
and  expressionless  eyes,  he  walked  on  towards  that 
place  to  which  some  inconceivable  force  engendered  by 
wrath,  pity,  and  despair  was  drawing  him. 

While  yet  at  a  distance  he  could  see  an  excited 
crowd  outside  the  well-known  house,  and  the  dark 
forms  of  two  mounted  policemen  towering  above  the 
heads  of  the  others. 

Sheviriof  mixed  with  the  crowd  which  thronged 
either  side  of  the  door  and  also  completely  blocked  the 
opposite  pavement.  He  wanted  to  hear  what  people 
were  saying.  Most  of  them  were  silently  waiting  and 
striving  to  get  a  glimpse  of  the  courtyard  where  the 
black  figures  of  the  military  police  and  other  officials 
in  grey  cloaks  were  assembled. 

In  the  roadway  there  was  a  Red  Cross  Am- 
bulance, and  this  red  symbol  of  suffering  proclaimed 
without  words  that  an  awful  tragedy  had  been 
enacted. 

A  house-painter,  whose  cap  was  splashed  with  green 
and  white  paint,  was  holding  forth  to  a  small  group  of 


92       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

people.  They  all  crowded  round  him  with  flushed, 
eager  faces 

"  You  see,  they  wanted  to  arrest  a  chap,  but,  of 
course,  he  cleared  out  pretty  quick.  They  searched 
the  house,  and  then  this  other  fellow  who  had  nothing 
to  do  with  it,  fired  and  killed  two  men,  besides  shooting 
a  policeman  in  the  stomach.  All  the  lodgers  turned 
out  and  then  they  started  firing." 

"  Yes,  but  what  had  the  other  fellow  to  do  with  it  ?  " 
asked  a  fat  man  sharply. 

Aware  that  he  was  the  hero  of  the  situation,  the 
house-painter  turned  round,  eager  to  impart  further 
news  : 

"  The  other  fellow  had  nothing  to  do  with  it,  that's 
to  say,  they  found  the  bomb  in  his  room." 

"  Found  a  bomb,  and  he  had  nothing  to  do  with  it ! 
What  nonsense  you're  talking,  lad  !  " 

"  Not  nonsense  at  all !  As  I  told  you,  it  wasn't  he 
they  wanted.  The  police  knew  nothing  about  him, 
as  it  turned  out." 

"  Oh  I  say,  how  shocking  !  "  exclaimed  a  showily- 
dressed  lady. 

"  Yes,  isn't  it?  "  replied  the  painter  sympathetically. 

Her  tinted  eyes  shone  with  curiosity,  and  her  soft 
cheeks  grew  pale. 

"  So  that  he  was  really  killed  by  mistake  ?  " 

"  Yes,  that's  what  they  have  now  found  out."  The 
speaker  threw  out  his  hands  and  smiled,  as  if  this  fact 
pleased  him  immensely. 

"  Oh,  but  it's  simply  horrible  !  "  cried  the  lady, 
looking  round  for  approval. 

"  Ah,  well,  they  found  a  bomb  in  his  room,  you 
know,"  remarked  a  young  officer,  as  he  smiled  faintly 


SHEVIRIOF  93 

at  the  fair  lady,  "  and  it  all  helps  to  clear  them 
out." 

The  lady  glanced  swiftly  at  the  speaker,  and  in  her 
dark  eyes  the  expression  was  one  either  of  coquetry 
or  of  protest.  "  Yes,  but  still  it's  most  shocking," 
she  said. 

Sheviriof  listened  in  silence,  yet  he  coldly  scru- 
tinized the  faces  of  those  about  him.  And  the  more 
he  looked,  the  tighter  grew  his  lips,  and  the  more  his 
fingers  trembled  as  he  buried  them  in  his  coat-pockets. 

"  Good  thing,  too,  that  they  did  shoot  him  !  It  will 
be  a  lesson  to  the  others.  A  pretty  fashion,  indeed, 
throwing  bombs  about !  " 

"  Good  gracious,  what  an  awful  thing  !  "  said  some- 
one close  to  Sheviriof's  shoulder. 

He  turned  sharply  round  and  perceived  a  girl,  who, 
with  youthful  eyes,  looked  disdainfully  upon  the 
crowd. 

"It's  better  so,"  cried  a  student  who  was  with  her. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Would  it  have  been  better  if  they  had  hanged 
him  ?  "  replied  the  student  bitterly,  as  he  looked 
down.  Sheviriof  eyed  him  closely,  but  the  student, 
when  he  noticed  this,  recovered  himself,  and,  touching 
the  girl's  arm,  said  : 

"  Let's  go,  Marusia.     What  is  there  to  stop  for  ?  " 

"  They're  bringing  it  out !  They're  bringing  it 
out !  "  was  now  the  general  cry,  as  the  crowd  swayed 
to  and  fro,  surging  round  the  doorway.  At  first  only 
the  bare  heads  of  two  policemen  could  be  seen,  and  then 
the  plumed  hat  of  a  gendarme.  They  were  carrying 
something  that  was  unrecognizable,  but,  beneath  a 
sheet,  one  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  long  chestnut- 


94       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

coloured  hair  stirred  slightly  by  the  breeze  and  a  small 
part  of  a  broad,  bony  brow. 

"  And  what  of  Love,  and  Self-sacrifice,  and  Com- 
passion ?  "  Those  words,  spoken  by  Aladief  in  his 
excited  bass  voice,  seemed  to  ring  in  Sheviriof's 
ear,  and  for  a  moment  his  features  became  con- 
tracted. 

The  onlookers  hid  the  corpse  from  view,  and  one 
could  only  see  the  green  top  of  the  ambulance-waggon 
as  it  lurched  sideways  and  slowly  moved  away,  its 
pathetic  red  cross  bobbing  up  and  down  among  the 
crowd.     Gradually  the  latter  dispersed. 

Only  a  little  group  remained.  The  painter's 
apprentice  continued  to  gossip  and  gesticulate  as 
before  ;  the  street  became  empty,  the  droshkys  rolled 
past,  and  pedestrians,  vaguely  curious,  still  stared  at 
the  doorway  as  they  went  by. 

Sheviriof  sighed,  and  thrusting  his  hands  in  his 
pockets  walked  firmly  along  the  street.  His  gloomy 
thoughts  seemed  to  shut  him  off  from  the  outer  world. 
Yet  his  practised  ear  detected  the  peculiar  sound  of 
steps  that  followed  in  his  rear.  Already,  in  the  crowd 
outside  the  house,  he  had  noticed  furtive  glances  from 
cunning,  pitiless  eyes  that  for  a  time  were  fixed  on 
him,  and  then  were  hidden  behind  some  bystander's 
back.  He  looked  round  once  or  twice,  but  could 
perceive  nothing  except  the  same  monotonous,  eager 
faces  of  passers-by.  Yet  that  strange  sense  of  being 
followed  grew  stronger,  and  his  heart  beat  faster  as 
he  walked  on.  At  the  end  of  the  street  lay  the  broad 
river  with  its  blue  waves,  where  smoke  from  the  steam- 
ships floated  in  clouds,  and  the  shrieking  of  distant 
whistles  rang  out  incessantly.     On  the  other  side  of 


SHEVIRIOF  95 

the  river,  houses,  gardens,  and  factory  chimneys  lay 
shrouded  in  mist. 

After  a  moment's  reflection,  Sheviriof  turned  in  the 
direction  of  the  bridge,  and  at  the  same  time  glanced 
casually  round.  Two  startled  eyes  met  his.  They 
were  those  of  a  man  with  a  very  fair  moustache,  who 
wore  a  stand-up  collar  and  a  bowler  hat,  and  who 
almost  trod  on  his  heels.  In  a  moment  their  glances 
expressed  a  mutual  understanding,  but  Sheviriof 
walked  on  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  and  then, 
quickening  his  steps,  the  man  in  the  bowler  hat  passed 
him.  All  this  happened  so  quickly  that  Sheviriof 
first  believed  that  he  was  mistaken,  but  his  heart  kept 
beating  as  if  to  warn  him.  Suddenly  he  saw  a  police- 
man in  front  of  him,  who  was  composedly  using  his 
white  glove  as  a  handkerchief. 

The  man  in  the  bowler  hat  walked  quietly  on  and 
passed  the  policeman  without  slackening  his  steps. 
Apparently  he  had  some  business  of  importance.  But 
the  policeman  in  amazement  let  his  arm  drop  and 
looked  round.  Instantly,  and  with  much  precision, 
as  if  he  had  fully  expected  this,  Sheviriof  turned  on  his 
heel,  and  screened  by  a  little  group  of  approaching 
bricklayers,  again  headed  for  the  quay.  In  the 
distance  lay  the  public  gardens  and  the  road  leading 
to  the  desolate  Champ  de  Mars.  With  lightning-like 
accuracy  he  had  divined  the  distance,  yet  he  saw 
that  he  could  never  reach  the  gardens.  The  quay, 
again,  was  bare  and  exposed  as  a  desert. 

"  Well,  what's  to  be  done  ?  "  he  thought,  "  there's 
not  much  choice." 

He  stopped  half-heartedly  by  the  landing-stage  of 
the  Finland  Steamship  Company,  just  as  one  of  the 


96       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

boats    by    an    ear-piercing    whistle    announced    its 
departure. 

Mechanically  he  staggered  towards  the  swaying 
gangway,  and  in  a  moment  was  on  board  the  steamer 
among  a  crowd  of  persons  all  trying  to  find  seats  on  the 
yellow  benches.  Then  he  looked  round.  At  some 
considerable  distance,  near  the  entrance  to  the  landing- 
stage,  he  saw  three  persons  who  seemed  completely 
detached  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  They  were  a 
detective,  a  policeman,  and  a  horse-soldier,  evidently 
in  consultation  as  they  looked  towards  the  steamer  ; 
and  their  movements  showed  that  they  were  in  doubt 
as  to  what  to  do.  Instinctively  Sheviriof  guessed  the 
reason  for  their  behaviour.  Uncertain  whether  they 
could  catch  the  boat  or  not,  they  first  ran  forward  and 
then  ran  back  again,  but  just  as  the  policeman  had 
resolved  to  pursue  Shevu'iof,  the  steamer,  with  a  loud 
sound  of  hissing,  moved  slowly  away  from  the  quay. 
Then  the  soldier  hastily  rode  off,  while  the  detective 
and  the  policeman  hurried  away  in  different  directions. 

"  They  have  gone  to  telephone  to  their  chief," 
thought  Sheviriof,  as  if  some  one  had  told  him  this. 
Then  once  more,  with  the  speed  and  accuracy  of  a 
machine,  having  measured  the  distance  at  a  glance, 
he  leapt  down  from  the  deck.  Some  of  the  passengers 
shouted  in  amazement,  but  he  managed  to  alight  on 
the  landing-stage,  though  he  slipped  and  nearly  fell 
into  the  water.  Recovering  his  balance,  he  ran  back 
towards  the  public  gardens.  Soon,  however,  he  strove 
to  moderate  his  pace,  and  commenced  walking,  but 
even  then  he  did  not  pass  unnoticed.  Many  people 
looked  round  at  him  in  astonishment.  Some  fearful 
force  seemed  driving  him  forwards.     He  wanted  to 


SHEVIRIOF  97 

look  round,  but  had  not  the  courage  to  do  so.  It 
seemed  as  if  he  were  already  captured,  as  if  dozens  of 
hands  were  stretched  out  on  every  side  to  seize  him. 

A  high  fence,  trefes,  yellow  leaves,  and  a  flower-bed, 
ladies,  officers,  and  children  all  flashed  past  him  as 
in  a  dream.  Without  turning  aside  into  the  gardens, 
Sheviriof,  now  almost  running,  reached  the  steep  little 
footbridge  across  the  Fontanka.  He  had  a  dim  vision  of 
barges  and  peasants  with  long  poles  moving  hither  and 
thither  against  a  misty  background  of  houses  and  boule- 
vards ;  and  now,  no  longer  able  to  resist  a  mad  impulse, 
he  began  to  run  down  the  further  incline  of  the  bridge. 

The  policeman  on  duty,  a  ruddy-faced,  thick-set 
fellow  with  a  grey  moustache,  shouted  out  something 
to  him,  but  Sheviriof  disappeared  behind  a  droshky, 
perceived  the  face  of  an  astonished  woman  wearing  a 
strangely  light-blue  hat,  and,  dodging  two  other 
droshkies,  dashed  down  an  empty  street.  He  heard 
shouting  behind  him,  but  Avould  not  look  round,  and 
ran  on,  hardly  knowing  what  he  did  till  he  reached  the 
first  door  that  stood  open.  He  entered  a  courtyard, 
with  steep  walls  round  it  like  those  of  a  shaft,  and 
almost  collided  with  a  nurse  and  two  children  wearing 
^jijight-blue  sun-bonnets. 

'*  Why  are  you  running  like  a  madman  ?  You  very 
nearly  knocked  the  children  down  !  "  cried  the  nurse. 

But  without  replying,  Sheviriof  ran  through  another 
dxDorway  into  a  second  courtyard.  He  fancied  that 
he  heard  the  nurse  call  out  : 

"  He  ran  through  that  doorway — that  one  !  " 

Dozens  of  windows  and  doors  flashed  before  his  eyes 
and  again  people  with  strange  faces  stopped  to  stare 
at  him. 


98       TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

It  all  looked  barren  as  a  desert ;  everything  seemed 
to  repulse  him  as  a  foe.  He  stopped  and  looked  round. 
Framed  by  the  dark  doorway  he  could  clearly  see, 
as  in  a  picture  the  crowd  of  his  pursuers  in  the  first 
courtyard.  In  front  ran  the  fat  policeman  in  a  black 
cloak  which  kept  flapping  against  his  knees.  Sheviriof 
fancied  that  he  saw  him  aim  at  him  with  his  revolver 
as  he  ran.  It  was  a  momentary  vision,  and  the  next 
minute  he  spied  another  doorway  at  the  side,  which 
led  to  a  third  courtyard  and  through  this  he  rushed, 
gasping,  as  a  sharp  pain  stabbed  his  chest. 

A  strange  man  advanced  towards  him  with  out- 
stretched arms,  blocking  his  passage. 

As  he  looked  away  over  Sheviriof 's  shoulder,  his  face 
had  the  expression  of  a  beast  of  prey. 

"  Stop  !  do  you  hear  me  ?  Stop  !  "  he  said,  almost 
merrily. 

"  Let  me  pass  !  "  cried  Sheviriof  hoarsely,  "  what 
business  is  it  of  yours  ?  " 

"  No,  no,  stop,  I  say  !  Help  !  "  he  roared,  seizing 
Sheviriof. 

"  Stop  him  !  "  came  the  cry  from  those  behind. 

For  a  second  Sheviriof  had  a  glimpse  of  an  unknown 
face  with  a  black  moustache  and  wrathful  eyes.    Therx, 
he  struck  it  with  his  fist  in  a  frenzy  of  despair. 

"  Ah  !  "  gasped  the  man,  as  he  toppled  over  like  $a 
sack  of  flour. 

''  Hi !  hi !  stop  him  !  "  The  cries  rang  through  the* 
air,  mingled  with  the  shrill  sound  of  police-whistles.' 

But  Sheviriof  dashed  round  the  corner,  and  observed 
an  opening  in  the  wall  which  led  to  the  street,  whence 
he  could  see  the  passers-by. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

The  place  seemed  as  gruesome  as  a  huge  churchyard  ; 
there  was  a  smell  of  damp  clay  and  rubble,  and  in  a 
corner  where  Sheviriof  hid  himself  there  was  a 
peculiar  odour  as  of  the  dust  of  centuries. 

Sheviriof,  after  evading  his  pursuers,  had  taken 
refuge  here  by  crossing  a  timber  yard  and  climbing  a 
fence.  He  feared  that  in  this  empty  house  they 
would  be  sure  to  look  for  him,  yet  he  had  not  strength 
to  flee  elsewhere,  so  he  stayed  where  he  was.  For  a 
long  while  he  could  hardly  breathe  as  he  gripped  his 
revolver,  ready  to  shoot  the  first  person  who  showed 
himself  in  the  battered  doorway.  He  could  still  hear 
shouts  and  the  clatter  of  feet  on  the  dilapidated 
marble  staircase.  His  breath  came  in  gasps,  and  his 
eyes  flashed  like  those  of  a  hunted  wolf.  But  the 
minutes  and  the  hours  passed,  yet  all  was  silent,  and 
only  now  and  again  was  he  aware  of  noises  that 
reached  him  from  the  street.  He  could  not  think. 
He  hardly  understood  what  was  going  on  around  him. 
He  only  waited  instinctively  for  the  darkness,  shutting 
his  eyes  every  now  and  then,  while  his  whole  body 
trembled  from  exhaustion.  If  he  closed  his  eyes,  he 
saw  rows  of  streets  with  faces  that  gazed  at  him,  and 
hands  that  were  held  out  to  seize  him. 

Twice  they  had  fired  at  him,  yet  this  had  hardly 


100     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

made  any  impression  on  his  memory.  It  might  evea 
have  been  imaginary.  On  the  other  hand,  the  more 
horrible  impression  haunted  him  that  in  this  frightful 
Hfe-and-death  struggle  all  those  whom  he  had  met 
were  his  enemies.  Not  one  had  attempted  to  hide 
him,  or  to  detain  his  pursuers,  or  even  to  make  way 
for  him.  If  there  was  one  face  that  did  not  show 
cruel  eagerness,  or  one  hand  that  did  not  attempt  to 
seize  him,  they  were  those  of  some  careless,  inquisitive 
folk  who  found  it  amusing  to  watch  a  man  being 
hunted  to  death.  It  was  just  the  recollection  of  this 
that  burned  and  rankled  within  his  soul  with  far 
greater  poignancy  than  the  memory  of  the  faces  of  his 
pursuers,  who  seemed  to  him  no  more  than  a  pack  of 
trained  bloodhounds. 

Sheviriof  never  reflected  how  near  death  was,  and 
how  slight  was  the  prospect  of  rescue.  He  only 
thought  whether  he  would  be  able  to  carry  out  his 
great  scheme,  the  scheme  which  with  so  much  hate 
and  love  he  had  nurtured.  He  recollected  how  a 
smart  officer  had  drawn  his  sword,  intending  to  strike 
him.  And  he  remembered  how  a  portly  old  gentleman 
had  held  out  his  walking-stick  in  order  to  stop  him. 
He  recalled  many  similar  incidents,  as  his  whole 
frame  shook  with  fury  and  disdain. 

Escape  there  was  none.  That  he  knew.  He  knew 
that  he  was  at  the  end  of  his  tether,  whereas  all  these 
people  would  calmly  go  on  living,  and  would  leisurely 
wait  until  they  should  read  in  the  papers  an  account 
of  his  death. 

The  time  passed.  Gradually  the  convulsive  beating 
of  his  heart  grew  less.  His  breathing  became  more 
regular,  and  his  clenched  fingers  relaxed.     His  over- 


SHEVIRIOF  101 

wrought  nerves  after  such  fearful  tension  gave  way, 
like  cords  that  had  snapped.  He  suddenly  became 
calm.  It  was  the  intense  deadly  calm  of  a  man  who 
has  got  the  noose  round  his  neck,  and  which  no  power 
either  human  or  divine  can  save.  He  felt  absolutely 
callous  and  indifferent.  If  at  this  moment  his 
pursuers  had  joyfully  rushed  in  to  seize  him,  he 
probably  would  not  have  offered  the  slightest  resis- 
tance. 

Faint  and  strengthless,  a  white  mist  seemed  to 
envelop  him  as  a  shroud,  separating  him  from  the 
outer  world. 

In  his  ears  there  was  a  sound  as  of  distant  bells, 
and  he  felt  but  one  desire  :  to  close  his  eyes  and  to 
sink  down  into  the  darkness  and  the  silence. 

"  I  dare  not  sleep,"  he  said  to  himself.  But  ever 
denser  became  the  mist  about  his  brain,  and  for 
awhile  he  lost  consciousness.  Asleep  with  wide- 
opened  eyes,  now  and  again  he  started  up,  remember- 
ing all  that  had  occurred,  as  he  looked  round  and 
trembled.  Then  he  sank  down,  and  dozed  once  more, 
conscious  that  the  damp  clay  chilled  his  very  bones. 
Immediately  opposite  him  he  could  see  on  the  battered 
wall  the  broken  remains  of  a  dainty  rose.  This 
tormented  him  extremely.  Sometimes  he  saw  plainly 
that  it  was  just  a  piece  of  broken  stucco  that  had 
once  been  moulded  in  the  shape  of  a  flower.  Then,  as 
the  mist  enveloped  it,  it  began  to  grow  and  assume 
hideous  proportions,  becoming  longer  or  broader,  or 
changed  to  a  cruel  human  face. 

At  last  he  must  have  really  fallen  asleep,  for  when 
he  opened  his  eyes  the  deep  blue  dusk  was  all  round 
him,  veiling  the  shattered  walls  and  peering  through 


102     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  doors  of  the  deserted  rooms.  Silent  shadows 
moved  hither  and  thither,  as  if  the  ghosts  of  former 
occupants  had  revisited  the  place  where  once  they 
had  known  love,  and  joy,  and  suffering,  before 
inexorable  death  had  borne  them  hence. 

As  if  by  a  fearful  blow,  Sheviriof  suddenly  awoke. 
Something  extraordinary  had  happened,  he  did  not 
know  what,  and  for  a  moment  he  could  not  imagine 
where  he  was,  nor  what  had  come  to  him.  He  seemed 
to  have  beheld  some  horrible  vision. 

"What  was  it?  What  did  I  see?"  he  asked 
himself,  "  let  me  think  !     Let  me  think  !  " 

An  iron  curtain  seemed  to  shut  off  his  brain. 
Behind  it  there  was  a  glimmering  light.  Voices  and 
the  dim  outline  of  faces  could  be  recognized,  but 
memory  failed  to  do  its  work,  and  his  torture  was 
supreme.  .  .  . 

Pale  and  horror-struck,  Sheviriof  tottered  to  his 
feet,  leaning  against  the  wall  with  both  hands  for 
support. 

"  I'm  going  mad,"  he  thought,  "  I  can't  bear  it 
any  longer  !  " 

Then  in  a  strange  voice  he  said  aloud  : 

"  What  if  this  is  the  end  ?  " 

At  that  moment  a  noise  which  resounded  through 
the  empty  house  brought  him  to  his  senses.  Instinc- 
tively he  clutched  his  revolver,  which  had  fallen  on 
the  floor. 

The  touch  of  the  cold  steel  had  a  sobering  effect. 
Shuddering  he  drew  himself  up  to  his  full  height  and 
became  hard,  cold,  impassive  as  ever. 

"  I  must  go  !  The  gallows,  insanity,  or  life  !  It 
all  comes  to  the  same  thing,  sooner  or  later.  .  .  ." 


SHEVIRIOF  103 

He  looked  round  wearily,  thrust  the  revolver  in  his 
pocket  and  gropeJ  his  way  down  the  stairs.  He  had 
already  got  to  the  door  and  could  see  the  light  of  a 
street  lamp  when  he  suddenly  stopped  and  pulled  out 
his  revolver.  At  the  exit  there  was  a  long  black 
figure  which  barred  the  way.  In  the  gloom  its  hands 
appeared  to  be  clasping  its  breast,  as  its  pale  face  with 
dishevelled  hair  was  turned  towards  him. 

"  Who's  there  ?  "  cried  Sheviriof,  and  then  imme- 
diately burst  out  laughing.  It  was  a  beam  from 
which  tufts  of  tow  were  hanging.  By  his  disordered 
fancy  and  the  darkness  this  had  become  transformed 
into  a  majestic  image  of  woe.  He  approached  it  and 
kicked  it  aside  scornfully,  as  he  went  out  into  the 
courtyard. 

There  were  piles  of  bricks,  wood,  and  cement,  which 
had  the  appearance  of  graves.  The  yard  gate  was 
open,  and  beyond  it  the  dim  white  street-pavement 
could  be  seen. 

Sheviriof  crossed  the  yard  and  looked  out  cautiously. 
Across  the  street,  only  a  few  feet  away,  three  figures 
stood  motionless.  They  were  policemen,  all  armed 
with  rifles.  Sheviriof  leapt  backwards  and  hid  behind 
the  wall.  The  men  had  noticed  nothing.  They  were 
talking  in  a  low  tone,  yet  Sheviriof  could  hear  the 
following  words  : 

"  What's  the  good  of  making  men  into  cripples  for 
no  reason  ?  .  .  .  Yes,  you're  right.  .  .  ." 

Sheviriof's  heart  beat  faster,  yet  his  brain  was  as 
active  as  ever.  He  noiselessly  crept  back  and, 
climbing  the  fence,  he  alighted  in  the  same  timber- 
yard  which  he  had  previously  crossed.  Beyond  the 
open  gate  lay  the  broad,  bright  street,  and  he  could 


104     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

see  the  silhouettes  of  passers-by  and  hear  the  clatter 
of  horses'  hoofs,  while,  opposite,  the  yellow  lights  of  a 
shop  were  burning. 

"  If  I  can  but  get  as  far  as  the  Prospekt,  I  shall  be 
lost  in  the  crowd.  When  I've  reached  the  Finland 
railway  station,  I'll  follow  the  railway  lines  to  the 
frontier.*  We'll  see  who  gets  the  best  of  it  1  "  he 
said  to  himself  defiantly,  as  if  addressing  an  invisible 
enemy. 

Then  he  resolutely  walked  out. 

The  light  and  noise  and  bustle  of  the  streets 
bewildered  him.  He  walked  a  little  distance,  and 
then  suddenly  rushed  back  again.  In  various  places, 
in  gateways  and  at  street  crossings  there  were  the 
same  black  figures  with  rifles  and  glittering  bayonets. 

"  They  are  all  round  me  !  "  he  thought,  with  the 
callousness  of  despair. 

To  remain  unnoticed  in  the  brightly  lighted  streets 
was  inconceivable.  The  game  was  up  ;  and  yet  in 
his  mad  obstinacy  he  would  not  surrender.  Well 
aware  that  he  must  be  seen,  he  dashed  across  the 
street  and  ran  towards  the  square  as  policemen  from 
all  sides  hurried  in  pursuit. 

*  The  frontier  of  Finland  can  be  reached  from  Petrograd  in  a  few 
hours  on  foot. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

The  sky  showed  dark  above  the  huge  city  despite  its 
myriads  of  hghts,  and  though  briUiant  lamps  were 
burning  at  every  corner,  the  streets  looked  like 
gloomy  passages  in  comparison  to  the  vast  theatre 
which  glowed  within,  as  if  on  fire.  The  shouts  of 
coachmen  could  be  heard  on  every  side,  and  out  of 
the  darkness  crowds  of  people  emerged  like  a  stream, 
thronging  the  brilliantly  lighted  entrances.  Into  this 
black  mass  of  humanity  Sheviriof  plunged,  and 
disappeared.  His  pursuers  were  at  his  heels,  and  he 
was  hemmed  in  on  every  side.  Though  again  he  had 
managed  to  elude  them,  it  was  only  the  last  phase  of 
this  senseless,  brutal  game.  It  was  just  at  the  entrance 
of  the  theatre  that  the  cordon  of  police  was  completed. 
Jostled  by  the  shouting  gendarmes,  the  crowd  of 
theatre-goers  swayed  sideways  in  confusion,  knowing 
nothing  of  what  was  taking  place  ;  and  only  certain 
students  who  understood  the  situation,  strove  to 
increase  the  panic  and  thus  enable  the  pitiable 
fugitive  to  escape. 

"  Get  into  the  theatre  !  " 

At  the  sound  of  this  youthful  voice,  Sheviriof 
instinctively  obeyed,  and  squeezed  his  way  through 
the  doors  of  the  huge  theatre.  Some  one  pushed  him 
along  towards  the  entrance  to  the  grand  tier.     An 


106     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ofRcial  in  a  red  and  gold  uniform  attempted  to  stop 
him,  but  recoiled  at  the  sight  of  those  strange,  wild 
eyes,  and  was  pushed  aside  by  a  crowd  of  unknown 
persons.  Sheviriof  managed  to  run  down  a  narrow 
passage,  and  passing  cloakrooms,  attendants  in  red 
livery  and  smartly -dressed  ladies,  he  leapt  into  an 
unoccupied  box  upholstered  in  red  velvet  with  gilt 
chairs.  Almost  bereft  of  his  senses,  he  bolted  the 
door,  placed  a  couch  against  it,  and  sank  down 
exhausted.  This  was  the  end.  Excited  voices  in  the 
passage  could  be  heard  shouting  : 

"  To  the  gallery  !  I  saw  him  !  To  the  gallery  !  " 
Somebody  tried  to  open  the  door  of  the  box,  but  at 
the  same  moment  the  lights  went  out  and  the  curtain 
rose  noiselessly,  showing  a  green,  sunlit  garden,  and 
people  in  it  wearing  fantastic  dresses  of  red,  blue  and 
gold.  What  then  happened  was  swift  and  terrible  as 
a  whirlwind.  At  first  Sheviriof  saw  nothing  but  a 
sea  of  heads  in  blurred  rows,  and  he  was  hardly 
conscious  of  being  in  a  theatre  or  of  witnessing  a 
performance  on  the  stage.  He  glared  about  him 
wildly,  like  a  wolf  at  bay.  All  that  he  had  gone 
through  that  day,  the  flight,  the  pursuit,  the  deadly 
peril  of  it,  and  the  inevitable  death  that  now  was 
near — all  this  had  nothing  in  common  with  yonder 
sea  of  heads,  naked  shoulders,  fantastic  decorations, 
and  brilliant  light. 

Maddening  was  the  thought  that  all  this  that  was 
going  on  in  the  theatre  had  nothing  whatever  to  do 
with  his  own  tremendous  misery.  It  was  as  if  his 
woes  did  not  exist.  The  curtain  rose,  the  conductor 
waved  his  baton,  and  the  soprano  in  powdered  wig 
and  hooped  petticoat  extended  her  arms  and  began 


SHEVIRIOF  107 

to  sing  in  sweet,  soft  tones.  He  would  soon  be  dis- 
covered, seized  and  hanged  at  dawn,  while  here,  in  this 
theatre  after  a  short  interruption,  all  would  go  on  as 
smoothly  as  before.  The  music  would  recommence, 
the  smiling  audience  would  again  watch  the  perform- 
ance with  interest,  and  listen  to  the  singer's  fascinat- 
ing voice,  as  the  white,  bare  shoulders  of  women 
quivered  with  emotion,  and  the  house  broke  forth  in 
thunders  of  applause. 

For  one  brief  moment  something  gigantic  seemed  to 
surge  up  within  his  burning  brain,  and  burst.  Then, 
his  hair  all  tousled  and  matted,  his  face  bruised  and 
mud-stained,  and  his  eyes  like  red-hot  coals,  he  leant 
over  the  box,  and,  without  taking  aim,  fired  straight 
at  the  sea  of  calm,  unconscious  spectators.  A  hideous 
scream  was  the  reply.  The  singer's  voice  ceased 
abruptly  on  a  high  note,  as  members  of  the  audience 
leapt  to  their  feet  amid  the  universal  uproar. 
Sheviriof  could  see  thousands  of  horror-struck  faces 
turned  to  his,  and  with  incredible  glee  fired  again, 
taking  aim  this  time  at  the  densest  part  of  the  crowd. 
The  shots  rang  out  in  rapid  succession.  From  the 
smooth  barrel  of  his  revolver  they  flashed  like  lightning 
across  the  heads  and  distorted  limbs  of  the  panic- 
stricken  spectators.  Hysterical  shrieks  were  heard 
above  the  universal  clamour.  One  fat  gentleman 
crouched  down,  whimpering  shrilly  like  some  animal. 
At  the  exits  there  was  a  wild  scrimmajje.  Lace  and 
velvet  were  torn  in  shreds ;  ladies  in  their  smart 
dresses  were  knocked  down  ;  and  blows  were  delivered 
wildly  which  fell  on  backs  and  faces  and  necks.  Yet 
above  all  this  din,  rang  out  incessantly  the  shots  from 
Sheviriof's  revolver,  as  with  cold-blooded,  brutal  joy 


108     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

it  revenged  the  insults,  the  sufferings,  and  the  ruined 
lives  of  which  he  knew  so  much. 

Then  the  door  of  the  box  was  broken  open. 
Sheviriof  was  seized  and  flung  to  the  ground.  When 
he  had  been  overpowered  and  was  driven  into  a 
corner  of  the  passage  by  the  policemen  who  covered 
him  with  their  revolvers,  he  still  stared,  and  his  eyes 
glowed  with  triumph.  A  fat  gentleman  was  being 
carried  along  whose  coat-tails,  drenched  in  blood, 
trailed  along  the  carpet.  A  lady  in  a  low-necked 
dress  of  pale  blue,  whose  wax-like  face  had  fallen 
forward  on  her  bosom,  was  supported  by  the  atten- 
dants. In  the  tresses  of  her  tumbled  auburn  hair  a 
white  lily  drooped  on  its  broken  stalk. 

Sheviriof  looked  away  from  the  black  revolver- 
barrels  pointed  at  his  breast.  He  did  not  heed  the 
furious  faces  of  his  captors,  but  his  eyes  were  riveted 
on  the  broken  lily,  and  on  the  soft  bosom  all  dabbled 
with  blood.  They  shouted  at  him,  they  shook  him 
by  the  shoulder,  but  his  eyes  remained  cold  and 
hard,  having  a  fixed,  far-off  look  in  them,  as  if  he 
saw  something  that  others  were  powerless  to  see. 


THE  BLOOD- STAIN 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN 


CHAPTER  I 

During  all  those  days  Anisimof  had  hardly  slept  at 
all ;  yet  somehow  he  felt  healthier  and  more  energetic 
than  ever.  He  had  also  grown  younger,  as  he  bustled 
about  at  the  railway-station,  a  gaunt,  ill-proportioned 
figure,  with  a  nose  of  truly  depressing  length. 

It  had  all  happened  so  vehemently,  so  suddenly,  yet 
the  whole  time  he  had  felt  braced  and  gladdened,  as 
though  he  were  being  borne  along  by  some  clear, 
inrushing  tide  that  had  for  ever  swept  away  all  traces 
of  the  old,  dull,  joyless  life. 

The  railway-station,  usually  so  silent  and  dreary, 
was  now  all  stir  and  commotion.  The  platform  and 
its  approaches  were  perpetually  thronged  with  people  ; 
a  black  surging  mass.  It  looked  like  a  huge  ant-hill 
above  which  the  sound  of  confused,  excited  murmur- 
ings  vibrated  in  the  clear,  cold  air.  Trains  kept 
arriving  in  rapid  succession  from  the  east ;  trains 
with  big  bright-coloured  carriages  that  hardly  stopped, 
but  hurried  onwards,  soon  to  be  lost  in  the  white 
mists  above  the  horizon.  Each  train  as  it  passed 
through  the  station  was  hailed  by  the  mob  with  loud 
hurrahs.     Caps  were  wildly  waved,  and  the  shouting 


112     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

seemed  to  produce  a  sense  of  youthful  gaiety  and 
exuberance.  Each  one  strove  to  shout  as  loudly  as 
he  possibly  could,  glancing  round  at  his  neighbour 
with  childish  glee ;  and  long  after  the  train  had 
disappeared  behind  the  wood  occasional  cheering  that 
grew  gradually  fainter  could  be  heard. 

"  Ah  .  .  .  ah  !  .  .  ." 

The  engines  bore  red  flags  that  fluttered  in  the 
wind,  and  from  the  windows  of  all  the  carriages 
strange  faces  peered  ;  trustful,  friendly  faces,  mostly 
those  of  young  men  who  waved  their  caps  and  their 
hands  ere  they  all  disappeared  in  one  direction.  That 
there  were  so  many  of  these  young  fellows,  that  train 
followed  train  so  quickly,  and  that  rifles  and  revolvers 
seemed  so  utterly  out  of  place  beside  black  overcoats 
and  caps  roused  in  all  hearts  a  youthful,  joyous  sense 
of  their  right  and  of  their  might. 

Anisimof  met  each  train,  and  duly  dispatched  it,  as 
his  long  nose,  red  with  cold,  stuck  out  beneath  his 
cap  in  sign  of  welcome.  He  watched  the  faces  that 
went  past,  and  his  heart  was  full   of  a    great  new 

joy. 

What  would  happen  next  he  could  not  tell,  yet 
vaguely  there  rose  up  before  him  the  vision  of  a 
future  bright  and  glad  and  free  ;  in  fact  it  seemed 
perfectly  natural  that  his  former  lonely  life  of 
drudgery,  with  all  its  humiliations,  drunkenness  and 
boredom,  should  now  have  an  end. 

If  no  T:rains  came  in,  he  lounged  about  the  station, 
mixing  with  the  crowd  and  thrusting  his  long  nose 
into  this  or  that  group  of  disputants,  as  he  put  a 
word  in,  here  or  there. 

All  knew  him  ;  all  called  him  "  Our  station-master 


THE  BLOOD-STADJ  113 

and  comrade,"  being  always  glad  to  have  a  chat  with 
him  as  with  an  old  acquaintance  or  a  good  friend. 

Sometimes  Anisimof  went  into  his  room  at  the 
station  to  be  alon^  and  to  collect  his  thoughts.  Here 
he  stood  for  a  long  time,  as  with  a  dreamy  smile  he 
murmured  to  himself  the  same  phrase  : 

"  Alas,  such  is  life  !  " 

Forgetful  of  his  intention  to  rest  and  reflect,  he 
again  went  out  of  doors,  where  the  sky  showed  bright 
and  clear,  and  the  snow  sounded  crisp  beneath  his 
feet,  and  where  merry  folk  were  moving  about, 
shouting  and  laughing  continually.  From  every  train 
two  or  three  persons  alighted  and  brought  news  to 
Anisimof,  or  asked  him  questions  of  extraordinary 
importance.  Anisimof  was  glad  when  he  could  give 
them  good  answers.  He  often  shook  hands  with 
them,  as  with  gladness  in  his  eyes  he  said  to  them : 

"  Go  ahead,  comrades  !     God  be  with  you  !  " 

His  long  nose  grew  redder,  and  his  little  eyes 
became  moist.  Nodding  to  his  friends,  he  ran  swiftly 
forward  towards  the  locomotive.  There  was  a  shrill 
whistle,  and  aU  those  dear  comrades  were  borne  far 
away  to  where  something  horrible,  and  at  the  same 
time  joyful,  was  going  forward.  Once  more  their 
departure  was  greeted  with  volleys  of  cheering,  thun- 
derous and  long  drawn-out,  that  almost  seemed  to 
shake  the  earth. 

Towards  evening  xinisimof  recognized  on  one  of  the 
trains  a  famfliar  face.  The  fat  engine-driver  whose 
features  were  bloated  and  puckered,  jumped  off  his 
engine  and  they  shook  each  other  heartily  by  the 
hand.  At  the  strange  appearance  of  the  driver,  who 
carried  a  rifle  and  whose  pockets  were  weighed  down 

H 


114     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

by  heavy  cartridges,  Anisimof  could  not  help  smiling, 
as  he  said  hastily  : 

"  I  say,  what  goings-on  to  be  sure,  Karl  Vulfovitch  ! 
Isn't  it  splendid,  this  universal  rising  !  " 

"  Aha ! "  replied  the  engine-driver,  pale,  but 
smiling,  "  we  shall  see  something  before  long."  He 
did  not  speak  Russian  quite  correctly,  and  this  little 
defect  which  usually  amused  Anisimof,  touched  him 
now. 

"  I've  just  heard  that  the  soldiers  are  confined  to 
barracks,  as  they  are  afraid  they  might  side  with  us," 
said  Anisimof,  as  a  broad  smile  overspread  his  face, 

"  Oho  !  "  replied  the  other,  "  we  expected  that." 

Then  he  grasped  Anisimof's  hand  once  more,  and 
ran  forward  to  jump  on  to  his  engine,  while  Anisimof 
ran  beside  him,  colliding  with  people  coming  in  the 
other  direction. 

"  I  wish  I  could  come  with  you,"  he  said,  "  but  if 
I'm  not  here,  everything  is  at  sixes  and  sevens." 

"  I  thought  you  did  not  want  to  leave  your  family," 
said  the  engine-driver,  as  he  ran. 

"  My  family  doesn't  worry  me,"  replied  Anisimof 
cheerily,  "  I  sent  my  wife  and  children  into  the 
country,  to  my  father-in-law's.  I  can  see  about  them 
later  on ;  this  is  not  the  time  for  that  sort  of  thing. 
Well,  good  luck  and  God-speed  !  " 

For  a  long  while  he  stood  watching  the  departing 
train,  and  smiled  wistfully. 

"  How  strange  it  all  seems  !  "  he  thought.  "  Three 
days  ago  I  would  never  have  believed  such  a  thing. 
I  thought  that  life  would  go  on  just  in  the  same  old 
way  ;  one  day  the  same  as  the  next ;  always  the 
same  damned  misery  and  worry." 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  115 

Faintly  the  ghost  of  his  old,  grey,  tedious  life  rose 
up  before  him,  and  vanished.  Glancing  round,  he 
shook  his  head  and  mingled  with  the  crowd,  listening 
to  their  remarks. 

In  the  third-class  waiting-room,  full  of  blue  smoke 
and  hot  as  a  bathroom,  there  was  a  ceaseless  babel 
of  voices.     By  the  buffet  stood  Akim,  the  pointsman. 

"  Well,  what  do  you  think  about  it  all  ?  "  he  said, 
as  he  puffed  clouds  of  bad  tobacco,  "  my  boy,  if  the 
people  once  start,  and  get  really  roused,  why  then, 
then,  my  friend,  aha  !  .  .  ." 

It  was  bright  and  cosy  in  this  warm  atmosphere, 
where  everybody  talked  excitedly  amid  dense  clouds 
of  blue  smoke.  Dark  shadows  passed  the  windows  ; 
there  was  a  murmur  of  voices,  and  the  door  creaked 
continually  as  people  came  in  or  went  out. 


CHAPTER  II 

That  same  day,  when  it  was  dusk,  and  the  distant 
snow-covered  copse  looked  grey,  at  full  speed,  without 
lamps,  and  snorting  and  whistling,  an  engine,  like 
some  black  bird  of  ill-omen,  came  rushing  into  the 
station  from  Moscow.  The  brake  shrieked  horribly 
as  with  a  grating  sound  on  the  frozen  rails,  the 
locomotive  stopped  for  a  moment  at  the  platform. 
Some  one  jumped  from  the  tender,  and  shouted  out 
in  tones  of  despair  : 

"  Comrades,  all  is  lost !  Bologoie  is  captured ! 
They  have  barricaded  the  railway,  and  a  train  full 
of  troops  is  coming." 

The  engine  rushed  on,  as  it  lurched  past  the  points, 
leaving  behind  it  a  white  trail  of  smoke  and  steam. 
The  momentary  silence  was  broken  by  a  single 
frenzied  cry  : 

"  Comrades,  first  .  .  .  our  .  .  .  our  train  will  get 
there  first !     Look  out !  " 

There  was  ominous  commotion  in  the  station. 
Crowds  of  people  on  hearing  the  cry  came  rushing 
from  all  sides,  and  Anisimof  was  surrounded  by  a 
ring  of  pale,  frightened  faces.  Here  and  there 
despairing  voices  could  be  hea'd  amid  the  strange 
hush.  It  was  as  if  something  terrible  were  passing 
over  the  station. 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  117 

With  feet  planted  firmly  apart,  Anisimof  stood 
rooted  to  the  spot  when  the  evil  tidings  had  been 
brought  to  him  by  the  engine  as  it  dashed  past. 

That  which  he  had  heard  and  which  yet  he  had 
not  clearly  understood  was  so  unexpected,  so  awful, 
that  he  became  utterly  dumbfounded. 

"  What's  that  ?  What's  that  ?  "  he  mechanically 
asked  those  near  him.  But  no  one  replied.  Abject 
terror  looked  out  from  all  those  shining  eyes  with 
their  large  round  pupils. 

In  another  minute,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  it  needed 
only  a  second  cry  for  the  whole  crowd  to  rush  away, 
shrieking  and  howling.  At  that  moment  a  student, 
short  and  boyish-looking,  was  hoisted  aloft  by  the 
crowd.  He  waved  his  cap  and  shouted  out  in  a 
high,  piercing  voice : 

"  Comrades,  that  can't  be  true !  It's  a  trick,  a 
police  trick,  comrades  !  " 

And  for  a  moment  the  pressure  was  relieved.  The 
crisis  had  passed.  Yet  all  suddenly  felt  convinced 
that  the  news  was  true ;  a  horrible  fact  that  could 
never  be  denied.  But  the  sense  of  panic  had  given 
way  to  one  of  fury  and  of  desperate  resolve.  Recover- 
ing himself,  Anisimof  removed  his  cap  and  wiped  his 
brow,  as  he  said  to  a  telegraph  clerk  standing  near 
him : 

"  Well,  what  of  that  ?  As  yet  that  proves  nothing 
at  all.  Very  likely  they'll  get  through  all  right. 
We'll  do  our  bit,  and  see  what  happens." 

The  tall,  sandy-haired  clerk  made  some  reply  which 
Anisimof  failed  to  hear. 

Now  on  all  sides  there  was  again  great  commotion 
as  the  crowd  proceeded  to  construct  barricades,  and 


118     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

in  various  places  black,  shapeless  masses  suddenly 
appeared.  Furniture  was  dragged  from  the  railway 
station  ;  two  men  hurried  along  with  a  huge  snow- 
covered  sleeper,  passing  Anisimof  and  knocking 
against  everything  ;  in  another  direction  one  could 
hear  the  crash  of  broken  glass. 

Hardly  knowing  why,  Anisimof  suddenly  felt  that 
it  was  his  task  to  control  all  this  haphazard  energy 
on  the  part  of  the  mob,  which  had  really  no  knowledge 
how  to  go  to  work.  He  knew  the  exact  position  of 
every  sleeper,  and  with  what  care  and  labour  the 
whole  machinery  of  the  station  had  been  brought 
into  smooth  working  order.  Thus,  no  one  was  better 
aware  than  he  how  in  a  few  moments  it  could  be 
converted  into  a  shapeless  heap  of  ruins.  He  felt 
vaguely  wrathful  with  some  remote,  indefinable  force. 
Running  along  the  platform,  he  waved  his  red  cap  to 
one  of  the  students  who,  looking  out  of  a  carriage 
window,  shouted  to  the  others  : 

"  Comrades,  this  way !  Let's  use  the  carriages, 
they  are  the  best." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  cried  Anisimof,  "  the  carriages  must 
be  placed  across  the  rails.  All  the  lines  must  be 
barricaded  except  the  main  line.  Akim !  Akim ! 
Fetch  the  crane." 

He  jumped  from  the  platform  and,  crossing  the 
rails,  ran  towards  a  long,  green  railway  carriage  which 
stood  in  a  siding.  He  was  followed  by  a  throng  of 
eager  helpers,  who  surrounded  the  huge  red,  blue, 
and  green  carriages  which  moved  slowly  as  if  of 
their  own  accord  above  this  human  ant-hill.  Toppling 
over,  they  suddenly  fell  with  a  crash,  as  chains  rattled, 
and  there  was  a  sound  of  breaking  glass.     The  earth 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  119 

seemed   to   groan   each   time   as   the   mob   shouted 
"  Hurrah  !  " 

With  dripping  brow  and  matted  hair,  Anisimof 
rushed  hither  and  thither,  directing  and  encouraging 
the  others.  Like  a  red  beacon,  his  cap  was  every- 
where in  evidence. 

At  this  moment  he  never  gave  a  thought  to  the 
danger  that  was  at  hand,  nor  to  what  would  happen 
when  these  barricades  had  been  erected.  Of  the  future 
he  appeared  to  be  absohitely  unconscious.  The  present 
was  so  vital,  so  stirring,  that  it  utterly  absorbed  him. 
Busily  engaged  in  getting  a  huge  Pullman  car  into 
position,  Anisimof  just  missed  the  arrival  of  a  train. 
At  the  sound  of  cheering,  he  looked  round  and  saw 
the  big,  snorting  locomotive  with  its  long  row  of 
carriages,  from  which  the  dark  figures  of  armed  men 
alighted.  The  whole  station  was  inundated  by  a 
vast  surging  crowd.  And  in  this  crowd  Anisimof 
for  the  first  time  saw  spots  of  blood  on  the  white 
bandages.  At  this  blood  he  looked  with  strange, 
painful  curiosity ;  for  the  first  time  he  felt  uneasy 
and  distressed.  At  the  thought  of  his  wife  and 
children  he  grew  cold  and  faint. 

"  I  say,  station-master,"  cried  a  big  fellow,  pushing 
through  the  crowd,  "  we  must  barricade  this  line, 
too,  my  friend,  so  that  the  barrier's  complete.  Other- 
wise we  shall  have  to  carry  the  wounded  across  an 
exposed  place  to  the  railway  station." 

"  Will  there  be  wounded  ?  "  His  brain  reeled  at 
the  very  thought.  "  Ah !  yes,  yes,"  he  replied, 
recovering  himself.  "  Of  course,  that's  necessary. 
I'll  see  about  it  at  once."  He  nodded  and  ran  towards 
the  engine. 


120     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  Ah  !  well,"  he  thought,  "  there's  no  help  for  it. 
Some  of  them'll  get  shot.  It  must  be  so.  Some  lives 
will  have  to  be  sacrificed.  Perhaps  they  won't  kill 
anybody,  but  only  wound.  Anyhow,  as  long  as  I 
live,  I  shall  feel  that  I  did  my  duty." 

The  thought  braced  his  nerves  and  made  hJm  feel 
strangely  determined.  His  friend  the  engine-driver 
saw  him  from  his  locomotive. 

"  We  didn't  get  through  to  Moscow,"  he  said, 
and  there  was  fear  in  his  voice.  "  What  can  be 
going  on  ?     Our  train  was  fired  at  by  troops." 

"  Never  mind,  that's  nothing,  my  boy  !  "  replied 
Anisimof  cheerily.  "  He  is  a  bit  afraid,  too  !  "  he 
thought,  and  this  in  a  way  consoled  him.  "  Drive 
your  engine  right  into  those  carriages,"  he  added, 
"  and  then  we  shall  block  the  line." 

The  huge  engine  having  been  uncoupled,  dashed 
forward,  hissing,  into  the  piled-up  carriages,  and, 
rebounding,  fell  over  on  its  side  in  a  cloud  of  steam. 
When  Anisimof  saw  this  and  beheld  the  straight, 
well-kept  line  transformed  into  a  huge  mass  of 
wreckage,  his  heart  glowed  with  pride. 

"  Wait  a  bit,"  he  said,  thinking  aloud,  "  they 
won't  get  very  far." 

"  Have  you  got  a  rifle  ?  "  asked  the  engine-driver. 

"  No ;  I  have  not  the  least  idea  how  to  shoot !  " 
replied  Anisimof,  smiling.  "  You'll  have  to  do  the 
fighting.     I  shall  have  other  things  to  look  after."     - 

"  Oh,  we'll  see  about  that,"  replied  the  engine- 
driver  grimly. 

"  It's  coming  !  it's  coming  !  "  cried  voices  in  the 
distance,  as  watchers  on  the  roof  of  the  station  and 
on  the  pump  hastily  clambered  down. 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  121 

"  They're  most  welcome  !  "  muttered  the  telegraph 
clerk  furiously,  as  he  ran  forward  to  the  barricade, 
dragging  his  rifle  with  him.  The  crowd  swayed  back- 
wards and  forwards,  and  in  sections  took  up  its 
position  behind  the  barricade.  Suddenly  there  was 
dead  silence.  In  the  twilight,  a  train  without  lights 
could  be  seen  approaching  slowly  through  the  copse. 
In  the  distance  it  looked  quite  small,  and  its  appear- 
ance was  strange  and  terrible. 

"  Here  they  come !  "  said  the  engine-driver,  as  he 
crouched  down  behind  a  heap  of  coal  and  wood. 

Anisimof  was  mastered  by  an  extraordinary  feeling 
of  curiosity.  He  smiled  without  knowing  why,  and 
climbed  up  the  slippery  side  of  one  of  the  carriages, 
and  clutching  its  cold  metal  edges  for  support,  he 
leant  forward  on  the  look  out.  The  black  train 
crept  slowly  nearer,  moving  even  more  noiselessly 
as  it  approached.  At  times  it  seemed  as  if  it  stopped  ; 
in  fact,  it  may  actually  have  done  this.  It  appeared 
to  be  feeling  its  way.  In  the  station  all  was  silent, 
as  if  no  one  was  there.  Yet  when  Anisimof  looked 
round  he  could  see  dark  figures  silently  crouching 
behind  the  barricade,  the  trees,  the  hedge,  and  under 
the  railway  carriages. 

The  train,  looking  strangely  black  as  it  drew  out 
into  the  open,  now  stopped.  It  was  just  as  silent 
yonder.  One  might  have  thought  that  the  train  and 
the  station  were  two  wild  beasts  stealthily  gazing 
at  each  other.  The  dusk  quickly  grew  deeper. 
Slowly  the  minutes  passed,  minutes  of  suspense  that 
seemed  an  eternity.  The  senseless  thought  even 
passed  through  Anisimof's  brain  that  the  train  was 
empty  and  had  been  left  there  in  the  plain.     But 


122     TALES  OF  THE  KEVOLUTION 

just  then  each  side  of  it  was  tlironged  witli  figures 
barely  discernible  in  the  dusk.     Then  these  figures 
formed  into  long  dark  lines,  and  slowly  like  waves 
approached.     Anisimof  felt  strangely  thrilled.     Never 
before  in  his  life  had  he  seen  great  masses  of  men 
marching  like  this  in   deliberate  regular  fashion  to 
fight  a  battle  that  would  bring  death  and  suffering 
to  so  many.     He  had  but  a  very  hazy  notion  of  war, 
yet  he  felt  somehow  that  the  horror  of  it  was  now 
at  hand.     War  was  a  thing  apart,  so  he  imagined,  to 
be  waged  in  a  special  place  and  not  in  the  midst  of 
everyday  folk.     Then  again,  those  who  fought  in  such 
battles  were  incapable  of  feeling  terror  and  sorrow 
as  keenly  as  workmen  or  officials,  or  students,  women, 
and  children.     Of  course  he  knew  that  this  was  not 
really  the  case ;    yet,  to  fight  in  this  out-of-the-way 
dead-alive  railway  station,  with  its  fences  and  garden, 
little  black  platform,  sleepers,  bells,  and  other  hum- 
drum  ordinary  things — to  have  a  battle  here,  with 
guns  and  blood  and  wounded  and  dead,  seemed  not 
only  horrible  but  senseless. 

"  God  help  us  !  Has  it  come  to  that !  "  was  the 
vague  thought  that  crossed  his  mind. 

But  the  dark  lines  came  nearer  and  nearer,  till  it 
was  plain  that  they  were  lines  of  living  men.  One 
could  see  how  quickly  and  stubbornly  hundreds  of 
feet  rose  and  fell.  It  was  this  perpetual  move- 
ment, and  the  grim  silence  of  those  hiding  behind 
the  barricade,  that  made  one  feel  that  some- 
thing inconceivably  horrible  would  in  a  moment 
take  place.  At  the  mere  thought  of  it  one  became 
stunned. 

The  soldiers  advanced.     The  awful  silence  became 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  123 

more  and  more  excruciating,  till  at  last  one's  sole 
wish  was  that  "  it  "  might  soon  begin. 

*'  Impossible !  Nothing  will  happen,"  thought 
Anisimof.  Bendmg  down  to  the  engine-driver,  who 
crouched  at  his  feet,  he  whispered,  for  fear  that  others 
should  hear  liim : 

"  I  believe  if  we  were  to  negotiate  .  .  ." 

The  engine-driver  looked  up  at  him  with  his  pale, 
puffy  face.  Apparently  he  understood  nothing.  His 
round  eyes  had  a  ^vild  look  in  them.  Then  Anisimof 
glanced  at  a  hook-nosed  man  standing  next  to  him, 
who  seemed  as  if  he  were  hypnotized.  All  at  once 
he  began  to  tremble  all  over. 

Then,  to  the  right  of  Anisimof,  a  shot  rang  out, 
and  as  if  in  response  to  a  signal,  from  all  the  fences 
and  improvised  barriers  of  wreckage,  little  flickering 
tongues  of  flame  darted  out,  followed  by  a  continuous 
rattling  which  echoed  through  the  frosty  air. 

Anisimof  plainly  saw  how  the  grey  rows  of  men 
fell  back  in  disorder,  as  if  buffeted  by  the  wind.  He 
saw  how  some  figures  collapsed  ;  and  he  could  hear 
a  distant  cry.  And  yet  he  had  an  impression  that 
nothing  had  really  happened.  But  the  next  minute 
the  whole  grey  mass  of  soldiery  appeared  to  have  a 
fiery  pattern  worked  upon  it,  as  the  dull  rattle  of 
musketry  broke  the  silence  of  the  white  fields. 

With  a  loud  explosion  something  struck  a  railway 
carriage,  and  there  was  an  agonizing  shriek.  The 
hook-nosed  man  fired  close  to  Anisimof's  ear,  almost 
deafening  him.  The  latter  turned  again  to  look  at 
the  engine-driver.  He  was  still  in  a  crouching 
position,  but  evidently  there  was  something  wrong 
with  him.     His  rifle  lay  on  the  snow.     His  face  was 


124     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

strangely  pale,  and  his  eyes,  though  immense,  seemed 
to  be  staring  at  nothing.  He  waved  both  arms 
feebly  and  then  fell  backwards.  When  he  lay  pro- 
strate on  the  snow  the  waving  movement  ceased, 
and  his  huge,  fat  body  stiffened  like  that  of  some 
frozen  beast. 

Again  the  hook-nosed  man  fired  with  deafening 
effect. 

Anisimof  glanced  at  him,  and  then  gently  clambered 
down. 

He  was  trembling  all  over,  and  smiled  foolishly. 
The  lifeless  engine-driver  stared  at  him  with  round, 
glassy  eyes.  This  was  death.  Now  for  the  first 
time  Anisimof  comprehended  that  the  horrible  thing 
which  he  had  deemed  impossible,  had  really  happened. 

"  They've  killed  him  !  "  he  thought.  "  My  God, 
what's  the  meaning  of  it  all  ?  " 

This  engine-driver  had  a  wife  and  four  children. 
Anisimof  knew  them  all.  Every  day  he  used  to  pass 
through  the  station  and  greet  him.  Now  he  lay 
there  like  a  log.     Dead. 

Anisimof  slowly  went  back  again,  being  careful  not 
to  look  at  the  corpse.  He  vainly  strove  to  analyse 
his  feelings.  Was  it  horror  he  felt,  or  fury,  or  disgust  ? 
He  remembered  how  last  year,  just  such  soldiers, 
Russian  subjects,  all  of  them  had  gone  through  this 
very  station  on  their  way  to  the  front.  He  had  felt 
so  genuinely  sorry  for  them.  It  grieved  him  to  see 
them  dragged  away  to  some  distant  unknown  spot, 
and  he  longed  to  do  them  some  little  kindness,  or 
at  least  to  help  them  in  one  way  or  another. 

There  was  a  smell  of  gunpowder  everywhere.  The 
black    figures    behind    the    railway    carriages    were 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  125 

behaving  very  strangely  now ;  running  back  and 
falling  down,  and  then  rising  and  clambering  on  to 
the  roofs  of  the  carriages,  while  others  rolled  down 
and  lay  writhing'  on  the  rails.  Then  earth  and  sky 
seemed  rent  asunder  with  the  force  of  some  fearful 
explosion.  From  where  Anisimof  stood  he  could  see 
a  fiery  star  that  suddenly  flashed  and  disappeared ; 
and  then  came  a  deafening  clap  of  thunder  immediately 
overhead  which  seemed  to  shake  every  bone  in  his 
body,  while  something  invisible  struck  the  barricade 
with  terrific  force,  setting  fire  to  this,  and  whirling 
snow  and  splinters  in  all  directions.  Slirieks  and 
groans  ensued,  as  the  mob  broke  up  in  wild  disorder. 

The  fight  lasted  for  about  a  quarter  of  an  hour, 
but  to  Anisimof  it  all  seemed  to  end  in  a  moment. 
He  saw  how  black  figures  on  the  top  of  the  barricade 
appeared,  and  watched  them  shoot  straight  at  him ; 
he  heard  some  one  who  lay  beside  him  groaning  in 
the  snow  ;  he  saw  groups  of  men  retreating  along  the 
line  and  the  fence,  and  apparently  firing  with  cool 
determination  at  the  soldiers  ;  he  saw  the  trampled, 
muddy  snow  covered  with  bodies  that  writhed  like 
worms  ;  and  then  unexpectedly  he  saw  soldiers  rush 
forward  from  the  back  of  the  station  as  the  mob  fled 
wildly  in  all  directions.  The  guns  suddenly  ceased, 
and  beyond  shrieks  and  the  sound  of  an  occasional 
shot,  silence  ensued. 

The  grey  soldiers  ran  out  from  the  station  across 
the  open  country,  and  caught  up  with  the  dark  figures 
sinking  in  the  snow.  Their  business  with  them  was 
brief ;  and  then  they  ran  on,  leaving  behind  something 
black,  and  crumpled  up  like  a  knot. 

It  was  so  horrible  that  Anisimof's  blood  ran  cold ; 


126     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

and  in  sheer  terror  he  ran  with  all  his  might  along 
the  line.  Near  the  pump  a  tall  soldier  rushed  after 
him,  wearing  a  long  grey  mantle,  and  carrying  a 
rifle.  The  soldier  had  a  smooth,  bopsh  face.  Having 
caught  Anisimof,  he  grasped  his  rifle  in  both  hands 
and  made  a  furious  thrust  at  him  with  the  bayonet. 
Anisimof  leapt  aside  like  a  cat,  and  for  a  moment 
they  danced  about,  as  each  glared  at  the  other.  Then 
the  soldier  raised  his  rifle,  and  pointed  it  at  Anisimof's 
stomach. 

"  Oh,  stop,  stop ! "  cried  Anisimof,  shutting  his 
eyes,  and  holding  out  his  hands  feebly.  Through 
his  closed  eyelids  he  could  just  see  a  flash  and  heard 
a  deafening  report.  The  soldier  had  missed  him  ;  he 
was  just  conscious  of  that.  Then  some  one  rushed 
up  from  behind,  and  struck  him  violently  on  the  head, 
so  that  sparks  danced  before  his  eyes,  and  having 
seized  him  by  the  sleeve,  fell  down  with  him  in  the 
snow. 

"  Hands  off !  "  shouted  Anisimof  furiously,  as  he 
ground  his  teeth,  and  with  his  elbow  struck  at  this 
strange  face  with  all  his  might.  He  could  hear  how 
the  soft  nose  cracked  with  the  force  of  the  blow,  and 
could  see  wild  eyes  staring  into  his. 


CHAPTER  m 

Night's  dark  face  looked  vaguely  through  the 
windows  of  the  station,  which  were  shattered  by 
bullets.  Here  all  was  now  still,  but  even  in  this 
stillness  one  seemed  to  hear  shrieks,  and  shots,  and 
groans.  On  the  line  there  was  a  blazing  pile  of 
carriages,  and  the  smoke  rose  slowly  in  dense  columns, 
above  which  myriads  of  red  sparks  flickered.  All 
objects  cast  irregular  shadows  on  the  snow,  and  the 
stiff  corpses,  ranged  side  by  side  in  front  of  the 
station,  seemed  to  stir  slightly.  Everyivhere  soldiers 
could  be  seen  moving  about  in  the  ruddy  light  of  the 
fire.  They  formed  groups,  and  then  dispersed.  Others 
stooped  down  to  the  ground  as  their  dark  shadows 
moved  behind  them  on  the  flame-lit  snow,  while  their 
bayonets  gleamed  like  red  needles.  Officers  were 
standing  on  the  platform,  smoking  cigarettes,  and 
conversing  in  a  low  voice. 

The  room  into  which  they  had  locked  Anisimof 
was  cold  and  bare.  Lit  only  by  fitful  gleams  from 
the  burning  wreckage,  it  had  a  strange,  fantastic 
appearance.  The  chairs  that  he  had  known  so  long, 
looked  now  like  gravestones  ;  the  lamp  which  had 
been  struck  by  a  bullet  dangled  from  the  ceiling  like 
a  large  dead  bat.  Shadows  of  soldiers  and  officers 
passed  silently  across  the  lighted  wall,  dwindling  and 
disappearing  in  the  corners. 


128     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

At  first  it  seemed  impossible  for  Anisimof  to  realize 
what  had  happened  to  him.  His  breath  came 
quickly ;  he  kept  opening  and  shutting  his  eyes, 
trembling  in  every  limb,  not  knowing  where  he  was, 
nor  the  reason  for  his  present  plight.  The  whole 
right  side  of  his  head  ached  and  throbbed.  He  kept 
shaking  it,  as  if  to  get  rid  of  the  pain ;  but  it  was 
useless.  This  side  of  his  face  felt  like  stone.  Before 
they  seized  him,  he  resisted  violently,  hitting  out, 
and  biting  like  a  wild  beast.  The  soldiers  caught 
hold  of  his  hair,  his  beard,  and  his  hands ;  and  still 
he  managed  to  shake  them  off,  feeling  all  the  while 
that  it  needed  but  one  last  supreme  effort  to  save 
himself  from  their  clutches.  But  when  they  had 
overpowered  him,  he  suddenly  became  conscious  that 
all  resistance  was  futile,  and  that  it  was  best  to  go 
quietly. 

"  Come  on,  you  swine  !  "  said  one  of  the  soldiers 
furiously,  as,  wiping  away  blood  from  his  face,  he 
struck  him  a  violent  blow  under  the  chin.  Anisimof's 
teeth  rattled  as  his  head  was  jerked  backwards,  but 
he  only  looked  round,  and  said  nothing. 

"  You'll  not  get  away,  now ! "  exclaimed  the 
soldier  in  triumph. 

"Off  you  go !  Quick  march ! "  cried  another, 
hitting  him  on  the  shoulder.  Thus,  with  blows  from 
their  fists  and  the  butt-ends  of  their  rifles,  the  soldiers 
drove  him  along  to  the  platform,  where  he  was  placed 
beside  two  other  men,  both  bruised,  bleeding,  and  in 
tatters,  who  were  surrounded  by  soldiers. 

A  tall,  powerfully-built  officer  with  a  large  fair 
moustache  came  forward,  and  five  others  were 
standing  near. 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  129 

"  If  you  please,  sir,"  said  a  soldier,  as  he  stepped 
out  of  the  ranks,  "  these  are  the  prisoners  whom  we 
caught  carrying  fire-arms." 

"  Aha,  is  that  so  ?  "  drawled  the  officer.  The  tone 
of  his  high-pitched  voice  showed  that  he  was  secretly 
pleased. 

"  Anatol  Petrovitch  !  "  he  called  out  loudly. 

From  the  group  of  officers  a  stout  man  with  a  small 
black  moustache  advanced.  As  he  came  nearer, 
Anisimof  looked  him  full  in  the  face.  Close  as  he  was 
to  the  light  of  the  fire,  one  side  of  his  face  was  illumined 
by  the  glare,  while  the  other  remained  in  gloom. 
With  a  sense  of  horror  that  he  could  not  explain, 
Anisimof  steadily  regarded  this  half  face  with  its 
one  glittering  eye.  It  seemed  to  him  that  these  were 
not  simply  men,  soldiers  and  officers,  such  as  he  had 
seen  all  his  life,  but  weird,  hideous  beings  which  had 
nothing  human  about  them  whatever. 

"  Allow  me  to  introduce  these  gentlemen,  the 
revolutionaries,"  said  the  big  officer,  with  the  same 
touch  of  malice  in  his  voice. 

Then,  abruptly  changing  his  tone,  he  inquired 
imperiously  "  Who  are  you  ?  " 

Anisimof  looked  at  the  man  next  to  him  who  was 
thus  questioned,  and  saw  that  it  was  the  hook-nosed, 
semi-hypnotized  fellow  who  had  stood  beside  him  at 
the  barricade  and  had  fired  on  the  troops. 

"  We  captured  him  with  a  rifle  in  his  hand,  sir," 
said  a  soldier. 

"  Aha  !     He  shall  be  shot,"  said  the  colonel  drily. 

Anisimof  understood  the  words,  but  failed  to  grasp 
their  awful  meaning. 

Apparently   the   hook-nosed   man   did   not   do   so 

I 


130     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

either  ;  he  showed  no  emotion,  nor  gave  the  slightest 
evidence  of  fear.  Two  sullen-faced  soldiers  gripped 
his  arms  and  led  him  away.  He  turned  round  once, 
as  if  he  wished  to  say  something,  but  was  silent  and 
remained  standing  a  few  paces  away. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  big  officer  again. 

The  question  was  meant  for  Anisimof,  but  another 
man  answered  it,  a  sickly-looking  little  fellow  in  a 
torn  overcoat  and  cap. 

"I  am  at  the  Kostiukof  factory — a  turner  .  .  . 
Fedulief,"  he  stammered,  as  he  stepped  forward. 
He  was  trembling  all  over,  ?nd  his  lower  jaw  quivered 
strangely. 

"  He  fired  on  us,  too,  sir,"  said  the  soldier. 

Once  more  the  colonel  uttered  the  same  brief 
incomprehensible  words. 

A  curious,  dull  thought  came  into  Anisimof  s  mind. 
He  slowly  turned  pale  and  nervously  stepped  back- 
wards as  if  to  squeeze  himself  in  between  the  soldiers. 
But  some  one  from  behind  instantly  caught  hold  of  his 

arm, 

"  You  !  Who  are  you  ?  "  asked  the  big  officer  who 
had  noticed  this  movement. 

Anisimof  was  silent,  striving  to  shake  off  the  hands 
that  held  him. 

"  Now  then,  now  then  !  "  was  the  officer' s  peremp- 
tory exclamation. 

"Why,  that's  the  station-master,"  said  the  fat 
lieutenant,  as  he  looked  at  Anisimof  with  his  one 
glittering  eye. 

"  Yes,  I  am  the  station-master,"  replied  Anisimof 
quickly,  still  fascinated  by  it. 

"  Oho  !     Very  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance," 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  131 

sneered  the  colonel,  stroking  his '  moustache.  "  So 
you  are  the  station-master  ?  Indeed  !  It  might  be 
as  well  if  we  had  a  little  chat  together  by  and  by. 
May  I  venture  to  inquire  what  your  name  is  ?  " 

"  Anisimof,"  was  the  answer. 

"  Oh,  thank  you  !  I  am  extremely  obliged,"  said 
the  colonel.     Then  addressing  a  soldier  : 

"  Under  arrest  till  to-morrow  morning,  early." 

"  If  you  please,  sir,  what  about  me  ?  "  asked  the 
turner  faintly. 

"  About  you,  my  good  friend  ?  You  are  to  be 
shot,"  replied  the  colonel,  evidently  enjoying  the 
effects  of  his  words. 

"  Oh,  if  you  please,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  turner  in  an 
agonized  voice.  At  this  cry  a  momentary  thrill 
passed  through  the  ranks  of  the  soldiery,  and  Anisimof 
was  aware  of  laboured  breathing  close  to  his  ear. 

"  Silence  !  "  cried  the  lieutenant  sharply. 

"  Take  him  away  !  "  said  the  colonel,  pointing 
towards  the  open  steppe. 

With  the  same  intense  curiosity  with  which  Anisimof 
as  a  child  had  watched  chickens  being  killed,  he  now 
scrutinized  the  turner's  horror-stricken  features  in  the 
fitful  light  of  the  fire.  He  expected  the  man  to  make 
a  dash  forward  and  endeavour  to  escape,  but  he  stood 
there  silently,  his  lower  jaw  quivering  more  and  more. 
Anisimof  could  not  take  his  eyes  off  this  jaw,  and  all 
the  others  gazed  at  it  also.  Every  movement  seemed 
to  increase  the  general  horror  of  the  situation. 

"  And  who  are  you  ?  "  shouted  the  hook-nosed  man 
from  a  distance.  "  You  dog,  you  lump  of  carrion 
....  murdering  your  countrymen,  you  scoundrel 
and  son  of  a  whore  !  " 


132     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 


II 


What !  Hold  your  tongue  !  "  exclaimed  the 
colonel  grasping  his  revolver  and  taking  two  paces 
towards  him. 

"  Hold  your  tongue  yourself !  Why  should  I  be 
silent  when  I  am  going  to  my  death,  you  block- 
head I  "  roared  the  prisoner.  "  It's  you  that  ought 
to  have  a  bullet  through  you,  Judas  and  cursed  dog  ! 
Do  you  think  that  I  am  afraid  of  you  ?  Here,  fire 
away  !     Shoot  me  yourself,  you  putrid  beast !  " 

Anisimof  uttered  a  faint  cry  and  covered  his  eyes 
with  his  hands.  There  was  a  loud  double  report,  a  cry, 
and  then  a  general  hurrying  to  and  fro.  The  dark 
figures  of  the  soldiers  shut  out  the  view  from  Anisimof, 
who  was  roughly  seized  and  dragged  away. 

Now  in  this  dim  cold  room  the  whole  scene  passed 
again  before  his  eyes,  and  he  knew  that  in  a  few  hours, 
when  the  day  broke  he  would  be  shot. 


CHAPTER  IV 

"  To-morrow  I  shall  be  shot,"  thought  Anisimof,  as 
with  shining  eyes  he  gazed  at  the  gloom.  This  was  no 
clear  thought,  for  it  was  impossible  to  imagine  that  in  a 
few  brief  hours,  human  beings  that  he  had  never  seen 
would  come  to  kill  him,  a  living,  suffering  human  being 
also,  as  though  he  were  a  mangy  dog.  Anisimof  only 
felt  a  dull  heavy  pressure  on  his  brain  such  as  the 
sight  of  an  awful  apparition  might  cause  to  one  who 
had  no  faith  in  supernatural  things.  Anisimof  at 
first  felt  inclined  to  shrug  his  shoulders  at  so  absurd  an 
idea,  but  then  his  face  in  the  darkness  became  dis- 
torted in  a  wild,  sickly  grimace.  He  wrapped  his 
torn  overcoat  closer  round  him,  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  room  with  short,  irregular  steps.  His  tall 
gaunt  figure  moving  noiselessly,  and  carefully  avoiding 
contact  with  the  furniture,  resembled  a  phantom. 
Such  caution,  strangely  enough,  was  not  the  result 
of  fear.  It  was  in  order  that  no  one  should  disturb 
his  meditations.  He  had  the  impression  that  if  he 
could  now  calmly  and  thoroughly  revolve  in  his  mind 
the  actual  situation,  everything  would  be  altered  ;  he 
would  then  get  to  understand  it  all,  and  the  whole 
matter  would  be  simply  and  easily  solved.  Thus  he 
kept  thinking,  thinking,  thinking.  Sometimes  the 
thought  that  should  save  him  from  death  seemed  to 


134     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

float  through  his  brain,  and  he  wildly  strove  to  bring 
it  to  the  surface,  and  to  clothe  it  in  words. 

At  last  it  grew  clearer  and  more  definite,  so  that  his 
brain  became  brighter  and  his  eyes  lost  their  agonized 
look.  For  a  moment  he  stood  still  to  seize  the  thought. 
Yet  the  words  that  he  found  were  these,  "  To-morrow 
I  shall  be  shot."  Suddenly  all  became  chaos  once  more, 
as  the  thought  vanished,  and  cold  sweat  broke  out 
vipon  his  brow.  Then  he  pictured  to  himself  a  well- 
known  place  behind  the  station  where  a  pile  of  old  dis- 
used sleepers  lay  buried  in  the  pure  white  snow.  The 
sleepers  had  been  removed ;  Anisimof  knew  that  by 
his  orders  they  had  been  dragged  to  the  barricade.  Yet 
to  his  fancy  the  place  appeared  to  be  unchanged  ;  the 
little  fence  and  the  pile  of  frosted  sleepers,  and  beyond, 
in  the  distance,  the  broad,  white  steppe  from  which 
the  station  looked  like  a  red  toy  house,  and  where 
the  pretty  little  trains  with  white  plumes  of  smoke 
ran  along  endless  lines  of  steel— all  these  things  were 
in  the  picture.  And  it  was  here,  on  the  snow,  with  his 
head  on  the  sleepers,  that  he,  Anisimof,  would  lie, 
not  merely  dead,  but  "shot."  His  head  and  his 
chest  would  be  pierced  with  bullets,  but  his  livid  arms 
would  become  stiff,  and  his  knees  protrude  sharply 
from  the  snow.  It  would  be  cold,  and  his  frozen  body 
would  be  hard  as  wood,  with  glazed,  bulging  eyes,  and 
his  mouth  choked  with  red  snow  and  ice.  But  he 
would  feel  and  see  nothing  more  ;  he  would  not  even 
see  his  own  corpse. 

"  That's  what  is  so  horrible,  the  most  horrible  thing 
of  all !  "  thought  Anisimof,  as  he  groaned  and  then 
sobbed  pitifully.  All  was  silent.  No  sound  could  be 
heard  except  the  crackling  of  the  burning  wood  outside. 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  135 

Anisiraof  walked  faster  and  faster  up  and  down  the 
room,  striving  to  recollect.  At  first  he  could  not  tell 
what  it  was  that  he  wanted  to  recollect,  and  then 
suddenly  his  thoughts  reverted  to  his  life  which  was 
now  about  to  end.  Before  him  passed  a  long  proces- 
sion of  days,  years,  events,  deeds,  moods,  and  cares. 
Born  in  poverty,  it  was  in  poverty  that  his  childhood 
was  spent.  He  remembered  how  surprised  he  had 
always  been  to  hear  others  speak  of  their  childhood 
as  of  a  bright  joyous  time.  He  had  been  a  sickly  boy, 
ill-shod  and  out-at-elbows,  a  typical  postman's  son, 
upon  whom  the  misery  and  ill-health  of  his  parents 
had  set  their  pallid  seal.  He  had  learnt  little,  and  it 
was  not  easy  for  him  to  learn  at  all,  his  main  lesson 
being  taught  to  him  by  the  sordid  existence  of  his 
parents.  He  was  soon  obliged  to  earn  his  own  living  ; 
at  fifteen  he  entered  the  service  of  the  railway,  and 
for  twenty-five  years  occupied  various  posts  which 
meant  much  monotonous,  hard  work.  When,  after 
some  years,  he  was  lucky  enough  to  be  able  to  vegetate 
in  a  little  desolate  country  station,  he  got  married. 
He  married  for  love  a  plain,  rather  stupid  girl,  who  had 
had  just  such  a  past  as  his  own.  Yet  about  this  love 
of  his  there  was  something  terrible,  since  even  in  his 
happiest  moments  he  could  never  forget  how  insig- 
nificant and  ill-favoured  his  wife  was.  But  the 
desire  at  all  costs  to  have  some  human  being  with 
whom  he  was  in  close  sympathy  succeeded  in  deaden- 
ing this  impression  to  such  a  degree,  that  it  only 
survived  as  a  vague  yearning  for  the  beauty  and  the 
romance  of  love.  His  wife  aged  quickly,  and  lost 
even  that  slight  charm  which  the  freshness  of  youth 
had  given  her.     Children  succeeded  each  other  with 


136     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

foolish  frequency,  and  his  wife  soon  became  an  elderly, 
odious  scold,  whose  features  perpetually  wore  the 
mask  of  care  and  envy.  The  children  as  they  grew  up 
were  weak  and  unhealthy.  The  fresh,  wholesome  air 
of  the  steppe  and  the  bright  sunshine  could  not 
counteract  the  noxious  influence  of  centuries  of  sloth 
and  semi-starvation.  Such  children  were  no  joy  to 
the  spirit,  but  only  caused  grief,  and  care,  and 
bitterness. 

With  other  folk  the  Anisimofs  associated  little,  for, 
in  their  poverty,  this  only  resulted  in  humiliation  and 
expense.  Anisimof  drank  heavily,  and  when  in  a 
maudlin  state,  would  bewail  his  misfortunes.  Thus 
his  dreary  life  went  on,  until  the  sudden  flame  of 
universal  indignation  and  revolt  revealed  everything 
to  liim  as  by  a  lightning-flash  that  felled  him  to  earth. 
All  at  once  he  stopped.  He  no  longer  felt  loath 
to  die. 

"  Rather  than  live  such  a  life  I  would  die  !  There's 
nothing  dreadful  about  death.  It  is  necessary, 
absolutely  necessary  ;  a  natural  escape  from  it  all  ; 
from  such  a  cursed  life  as  mine  !  "  he  thought. 

Reflecting  thus,  he  grew  more  composed,  and  his 
grey,  worn  features  assumed  the  same  calm  deter- 
mined expression  which  was  their's  when  he  fought 
at  the  barricade.  Yet  within  his  soul  he  felt  a  dull, 
gnawing  pain  that  would  not  let  him  rest. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  he  said  to  himself,  "  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  ;  I  mustn't  think  about  that. 
If  I  do,  all  the  old  horror  comes  back.  It's  best  not 
to  think." 

But  the  pain  did  not  cease.  Like  a  gnawing  mouse, 
it  grew  bolder  and  bolder ;  it  touched  his  heart. 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  137 

"  Yes,"  he  thought.  "  I  am  not  sorry  to  go.  I'd 
rather  die  than  Uve  such  a  hie.  But  why  do  I  say 
'  such  a  Uf e  ?  '  Is  there  no  other  ?  Why  was  I 
doomed  to  hve  such  a  life  ?  Besides  it  isn't  true.  I 
am  som'  to  lose  my  life,  be  it  what  it  may.  "\Miy 
should  I  be  killed,  because  all  my  life  long  I  have 
known  nothing  but  suffertng  and  miseiy^  ?  It's  that, 
that  which  .  .  .  ."  he  murmured,  as  he  suddenly 
stood  still.  Then  he  rushed  to  the  window,  and, 
seizing  the  woodwork,  shook  it  violently,  cutting  his 
hands  with  the  broken  glass.  The  burning  wreckage 
outside  was  smouldering  now,  and  gave  but  httle 
licrht.  Yet  in  his  room  it  was  so  dark  that  outside 
all  seemed  bright  as  day. 

"  What  are  you  making  that  noise  for  ?  "  shouted  a 
soldier,  as,  earning  his  rifle,  he  hurried  to  the  window. 
Clutching  the  window-frame,  Anisimof  remained 
motionless.  The  soldier  also  stood  still.  Then, 
recovering  himself,  Anisimof  again  shook  the  window 
as  he  shrieked  : 

"  Let  toe  out !  " 

"  I  can't  do  that  !  "  roared  the  soldier  in  the  same 
unnatural  tone. 

"  You're  a  liar  !     Let  me  out !     Fetch  the  colonel." 

"  \Vhat  do  you  want  with  the  colonel  ?  Keep 
back  !  " 

Both  were  surprised  to  hear  themselves  shrieking 
like  this  at  one  another,  and  for  a  moment  there  was 
silence,  as  if  sometliing  new  and  strange  were  about  to 
take  place.  Then  steps  could  be  heard,  and  the  sound 
of  voices.  In  reply  to  this  sound,  Anisimof  deliberately 
broke  the  window-sash,  shattering  a  couple  of  panes. 
Stepping  forward,  the  soldier  in  the  same  deliberate 


138     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

fashion,  struck  Anisimof  full  in  the  chest  with  the  butt- 
end  of  his  rifle.  Dazed  and  choking,  Anisimof,  like  a 
drowning  man,  threw  up  his  arms  and  fell  backwards 
to  the  floor. 

"  What's  the  matter,  Yefimof  ?  "  asked  some  one 
outside. 

"  It's  the  prisoner  ;  he  wanted  to  climb  out  of  the 
window,"  replied  the  soldier.  Several  dark  heads 
looked  in  through  the  windows  of  the  silent  room. 
For  awhfle  they  remained  motionless,  and  then  dis- 
appeared as  the  same  voice  said  angrily  : 

"  If  there's  any  more  of  his  nonsense,  put  a  bullet 
through  his  head.     That's  quite  simple." 

Then  the  sound  of  voices  ceased. 

Anisimof  rose,  glanced  in  horror  at  the  window,  and 
quickly  stepped  aside.  These  last  words,  "  that's 
quite  simple,"  stunned  him.  He  admitted  that  it  was 
really  "quite  simple." »  However  much  he  might 
shriek  and  struggle,  however  dreadful  death  might  be  ; 
notwithstanding  the  fact  that  he,  Anisimof,  as  the 
possessor  of  his  life,  had  a  right  to  it — all  this  did  not 
count  in  the  least.  Suddenly  the  thought  came  back 
to  him,  "I  shall  be  shot !  No  matter  what  I  do, 
whether  I  beseech  them  to  pardon  me,  or  crouch  down 
in  terror  like  that  workman,  I  shall  still  be  led  out  to 
yonder  pile  of  sleepers,  and  the  soldiers  will  calmly 
take  aim  as  if  I  didn't  see  anything,  and  were  not 
half  dead  of  fright." 

He  felt  his  lower  jaw  quivering  more  and  more,  and 
he  made  violent  efforts  to  check  this,  shrugging  his 
shoulders  and  flinging  his  arms  about. 

The  light  of  dawn  now  came  through  the  window, 
grey  as  that  of  some  autumn  morning.     All  objects 


THE  BLOOD  STAIN  139 

in  the  room  gradually  became  visible,  and  a  faint  light 
touched  the  walls,  the  floor,  and  his  pale  hands.  For 
a  moment  he  thought  that  all  had  passed,  and  was 
merely  a  dream,* but  then  with  awful  swiftness  he 
became  conscious  that  it  was  all  horribly  real,  and  the 
thought  that  "  it "  would  soon  take  place,  again 
haunted  him.  He  felt  forced  to  think  of  something, 
no  matter  what.  He  remembered  the  dead  engine- 
driver,  and  then  thought  of  others  who  had  tumbled 
down  from  the  barricade,  writhing  in  the  blood- 
stained snow.  Then  he  thought  of  the  turner,  and  of 
of  the  hook-nosed  man,  and  seemed  to  hear  the  two 
shots  which  were  followed  by  a  faint  cry.  Then  he 
suddenly  saw  the  piles  of  sleepers  with  the  frost  on 
them  and  a  pair  of  angular  knees,  his  knees,  pro- 
truding from  the  snow. 

"  Why  should  all  this  be  ?  "  The  thought  seemed 
ridiculous.  In  fact,  he  laughed,  a  low,  hysterical 
laugh.  It  sounded  weird  in  the  grey  silence  of 
approaching  dawn. 

"  No,  it's  best  not  to  think,"  he  said  to  himself. 

He  felt  cold  now,  and  hungry.  Then  for  the  first 
time  he  thought  of  his  wife  and  children  and  wondered 
that  he  had  not  done  so  before. 

"  I  must  write  to  my  wife,"  he  thought.  An  ink- 
stand stood  on  the  table.  The  ink  in  it  had  a  slight 
coating  of  ice.  Anisimof  breathed  carefully  on  it, 
broke  the  ice  with  a  pen,  and  carried  the  inkstand  to 
the  window.  He  found  it  difficult  to  write,  and  twice 
the  pen  slipped  from  his  frozen  fingers,  which  roused 
in  him  deep  self-pity. 

At  first  he  felt  that  he  must  make  great  haste  as  he 
might  be  disturbed  and  had  much  to  write.     Some- 


140     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

times  he  glanced  sharply  out  of  the  window,  where, 
with  his  back  to  it,  leaning  on  his  rifle,  stood  the  tall 
soldier.  Already  the  faint  dawn-light  was  falling  on 
his  grey  coat. 

"  Dear  Sascha,"  wrote  Anisimof,  tracing  each 
letter  with  difficulty,  although  it  was  now  quite  light. 
He  knew  not  how  to  continue.  What  should  he 
say? 

"  Lord  !  Lord  !  why  must  1  suffer  all  this  ?  "  he 
exclaimed,  as,  thrusting  his  hands  through  his  hair, 
he  burst  into  tears.  For  a  long  time  he  wept,  gazing 
through  the  windows  at  the  grey  expanse  of  sky. 
Then  at  last  he  continued  : 

"  Farewell,  Shurotchka  !  How  will  you  live  without 
me.  I  know  not  if  they  will  ever  give  you  this  letter. 
I  Mdll  beg  them  to  do  so.  Farewell  !  Do  not  weep, 
Shurotchka,  it  can't  be  helped.  Don't  forget  me,  and 
tell  the  children  to  think  of  me  sometimes.  I  cannot 
write  more.  Once  more,  farewell." 
.  A  vague  mist  seemed  to  envelop  his  brain,  so  that 
for  a  moment  he  almost  lost  consciousness. 

Soldiers  now  approached  the  window  and  their 
rifles  rattled  as  the  guard  was  being  changed.  The 
ncAv  sentry  marched  past  the  window  twice,  casting  a 
furtive  glance  each  time  at  Anisimof,  who  shrank  back 
in  a  corner  of  the  room,  hiding  the  letter  in  his  breast 
pocket. 

Then  he  lay  down  on  the  sofa,  with  his  face  to  the 
wall  and  clasped  the  little  piece  of  paper  close  to  his 
heart.  He  felt  as  if  this  letter  were  a  link  with  life, 
with  all  that  might  happen  to-morrow,  and  the  day 
after,  and  the  future,  when  he  would  not  be  there  ; 
a  link  with  wife  and  children,  and  with  those  with 


THE  BLOOD  STAIN  141 

whom  his  whole  Hfe  had  been  spent,  and  from  whom 
death  was  now  to  divide  him. 

And  as  he  pressed  the  letter  to  his  heart,  he  gently 
wept  bitter  tears  that  none  could  see.  So,  with  his 
face  bathed  in  tears,  he  fell  asleep. 


CHAPTER  V 

At  eight  o'clock  that  morning  he  was  shot. 

The  terrors  of  his  last  hours  of  life  were  strangely 
reflected  in  his  dreams.  He  dreamt  that  he  was 
crawling  along  a  horribly  narrow  subterranean  passage. 
It  became  increasingly  narrow,  so  that  crawling  was 
now  and  then  difficult.  Yet  he  felt  that  he  must  so 
on  ;  knowing  that  it  was  impossible  to  stop.  The 
earth  behind  him  kept  falling,  falling,  and  formed  a 
dense  wall.  He  could  hardly  breathe,  yet  he  longed 
to  scream,  and  then,  at  a  short  distance,  he  perceived 
a  grey  flat  head  with  small  greenish  eyes  that  never 
moved,  and  behind  it  a  long  slippery  body,  on  which 
fell  a  faint  subterranean  light. 

"  A  rattlesnake  !  "  shrieked  some  one  close  to  his 
ear.  His  hair  stood  on  end,  as,  horror-struck,  he 
recoiled.  Yet  behind  him  lay  the  impenetrable  wall. 
With  all  his  might  he  threw  himself  against  it, 
struggling  vainly  with  his  hands  and  feet  to  force  a 
passage  through  it,  and  closing  his  eyes.  Yet  all  the 
while  he  could  hear  a  strange  hissing  sound,  and 
through  his  eyelids  he  could  see  that  the  flattened 
head  with  its  greenish  eyes,  was  moving  now,  and 
gliding  slowly  towards  him.  In  a  frenzy  of  despair 
he  suddenly  woke. 

Before  him  stood  a  tall,  gaunt  officer  in  a  grey 
cloak,  who  said : 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  143 

"  Get  up,  if  you  please,  Mr.  A  .  .  .  nisimof." 

Anisimof,  leaning  on  his  elbow,  stared  hard  at  the 
officer,  and  then  he  hastily  rose. 

"  Is  it  time  ?  '"he  asked  hurriedly. 

The  jofficer  laughed  evilly  : 

"  Er— yes  !  " 

With  even  greater  haste,  Anisimof  searched  every- 
where for  his  cap.  It  was  not  on  the  sofa  nor  yet  on 
the  table.  He  looked  about  anxiously  for  it,  feeling 
strangely  vexed  at  keeping  others  waiting.  His  hands 
were  trembling  and  his  eyes  glanced  restlessly  in  all 
directions. 

"  Now  then,  how  much  longer  are  you  going  to 
be  ?  "  asked  the  officer  rudely. 

"  In  a  moment.     I  can't  find  my  cap." 

"  That  doesn't  matter  ;  go  without  it,"  said  the 
officer  impatiently. 

"  No,  it  certainly  doesn't  matter,"  faltered  Anisimof, 
with  a  swift  look  at  the  other. 

There  was  a  short  pause,  and  the  officer's  lips 
suddenly  quivered.  Anisimof  noticed  a  strange  enig- 
matic expression  on  his  face,  which,  however,  instantly 
vanished. 

"  Now  then  !  "  he  cried  roughly,  as  with  a  move- 
ment of  his  head  he  pointed  to  the  door.  Without 
looking  at  the  officer.  Anisimof  made  a  convulsive 
forward  movement.  When  he  reached  the  platform, 
where  a  group  of  officers  and  men  silently  regarded 
him,  Anisimof  staggered,  and  his  features  became 
convulsed.  His  face  was  grey  and  haggard,  his  eyes 
were  sunken  and  his  hair  had  a  wild  ap])carance. 

The  same  officer  who  had  come  to  wake  him  said 
something,  and  twelve  men  advanced,  and  took  up 


144     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

their  position  immediately  behind  Anisimof.  Smihng 
awkwardly,  Anisimof  looked  round  and  stammered 
out : 

"  If  you  please,  sir  ..." 

The  officer  slowly  turned  round  : 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  .  .  ."  faltered  Anisimof,  still  smiling 
feebly,  "  perhaps  I  might  send  a  letter  .  .  ." 

One  of  the  other  officers,  a  fat  man  with  a  black 
moustache  said,  frowning  : 

"  What,  now  ?     Well,  really,  how  can  you  ?  " 

"  It's  already  written.  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  I  see.     Well,  what  about  it  ?  " 

"  Would  it  not  be  possible  to  send  it  to  the 
address  ?  " 

"  To  send  it  ?  All  right.  Ivanoff,  take  the  letter," 
said  the  fat  officer,  flushing. 

A  pock-marked,  fair-haired  soldier  stepped  out  of 
the  ranks.  Anisimof  thrust  his  hand  into  his 
breast  pocket,  and  drew  out  the  soiled  and  crumpled 
letter. 

"  Thank  you  very  much,"  he  said  in  a  faint  voice. 

As  they  led  him  away,  he  gazed  mournfully  at  the 
piece  of  paper,  which  the  soldier  carefully  tucked  into 
the  cuff  of  his  overcoat.  Anisimof  was  taken  to  the 
little  churchyard  which  was  half  a  verst  from  the 
station.  It  was  dreary  and  silent  here.  The  graves 
shone  white,  and  the  black  slanting  crosses  were  set 
in  sharp  relief  by  the  glittering  snow.  Mournful  and 
motionless,  two  birch-trees  stood  there  with  delicate 
frosted  boughs. 

The  way  was  not  long.  Anisimof  walked  with  the 
soldiers  submissively,  as  if  some  mightier  power  had 


THE  BLOOD-STAIN  145 

gripped  his  elbow  and  were  leading  him  along.  He 
looked  about  him  on  every  side,  striving  to  notice 
everything.  A  strange  thought  came  to  him  that 
what  was  now  happening  had  nothing  dreadful  about 
it.  He  had  only  to  be  courageous,  and  take  note  of 
every  little  thing,  and  then  nothing  would  affright  or 
hurt  him,  but  the  end  would  be  simple  and  easy. 

"  They'll  shoot,  and  I  shall  be  dead,  and  that's  all. 
What  is  there  terrible  about  that  ?  " 

Yet  it  worried  him  that  he  could  not  see  and  take 
note  of  everything.  Each  little  detail ;  the  tawny, 
fox-coloured  boots  of  the  soldier  who  marched  in 
front  of  him  ;  the  blue  sky  above  the  snowy  horizon  ; 
a  black  spot  on  the  white  field  ;  sparrows  which  flew 
up  from  the  road  and  perched  on  a  trembling  bough  ; 
the  white  morning  light ;  the  scrunching  of  the  snow 
under  his  feet ; — of  all  these  things  he  was  keenly 
conscious,  yet  what  he  saw  made  no  impression,  for 
all  within  his  brain  was  void.  With  bowed  head  he 
gazed  at  his  feet  and  traced  the  footprints  in  the 
snow  made  by  the  officer's  goloshes.  He  gazed  at 
each  one  intently,  as  if  everything  depended  upon 
that. 

Not  until  they  made  him  stand  by  himself,  did  he 
raise  his  head.  Around  him  all  was  cold  and  solitary. 
To  such  cold  and  solitude  the  grey  row  of  soldiers 
and  officers,  with  their  rifles  pointed  at  him,  added 
nothing.  Anisimof  watched  the  soldiers.  They  were 
all  looking  at  him  along  the  barrels  of  their  rifles.  He 
was  suddenly  conscious  of  nothing  but  this  row  of 
frightened  eyes.  Everything  else  vanished.  In  that 
one  short  second  between  the  word  of  command  and 
the  firing,  Anisimof  thought  with  amazing  clearness : 

K 


146     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  They  need  not  have  killed  me,  and  I  need  not 
have  died.  They're  all  horrified  at  having  to  shoot 
me,  and  yet  I  am  going  to  be  shot.  That's  because  I 
can't  speak  the  right  word  to  convince  them  how 
terrible  and  how  pitiful  it  all  is." 

A  thousand  words  like  fiery  meteors  flashed  through 
his  brain,  as  he  made  a  superhuman  effort  to  speak, 
staggering  forwards  with  wide-opened  mouth.  Then 
he  saw  a  faint  flash,  but  no  longer  heard  the  report 
that  followed,  though  he  felt  his  hands  and  face 
strike  the  hard  snow.  Then  he  knew  that  all  was 
over,  and  that  the  inevitable  had  happened. 

The  rattle  of  musketry  echoed  across  the  steppe. 
The  slender  birches  quivered  ;  a  crow,  perched  on 
one  of  the  distant  grave-mounds,  flapped  its  black 
wings,  and  flew  further  off,  where  it  hovered  above 
the  snow. 

The  soldiers  lowered  arms,  pulled  the  bluish  lips 
apart  and  gazed  at  the  corpse.  While  the  left  foot 
continued  to  twitch  slightly,  there  was  perfect  silence. 
Blood  quickly  soaked  into  the  snow,  making  a  red, 
shapeless  patch.  The  soldiers'  hands  were  bedabbled 
with  it,  as  they  dragged  the  body  to  a  ditch  and 
buried  it  there. 

On  the  blood- stain  they  threw  snow,  but  the  blood 
soon  soaked  through.  During  that  long  winter  the 
snowflakes  covered  it,  but  when  the  thaw  came  in 
spring-time,  the  brown  spot  reappeared,  till,  as  the 
snow  melted  beneath  the  bright  April  sunshine,  it 
vanished,  and  became  part  of  the  mellow,  fecund 
earth. 


MOENING  SHADO\\^S 


\ 


MORNING  SHADOWS 


CHAPTER  I 

It  was  spring.  Pasha  Afanasief,  a  sixth-form  boy, 
who  had  been  exempted  through  illness  from  going 
up  for  his  exam,  and  Lisa  Tchumakova,  a  girl  student 
stood  beside  the  little  fence  that  divided  two  gardens. 
Lisa  was  leaning  against  the  fence ;  in  her  grey, 
somewhat  prominent  eyes  there  was  the  childishly 
earnest  and  yet  maidenly  expression,  which  they 
always  had  when  it  was  a  question  of  anything 
important  in  her  life. 

As  she  listened,  she  glanced  downwards  at  a  book 
which  she  was  holding  in  her  hand.  Pasha  Afanasief, 
leaning  forward  against  the  fence,  as  it  was  difficult 
for  him  to  stand  upright,  said  in  a  high,  excited 
voice  : 

"  But  if  they  don't  let  you  go,  we'll  find  a  way  to 
make  them,  somehow.  I'll  get  you  some  teaching  or 
copying  to  do.  You  shan't  suffer,  whatever  happens. 
It  may  be  a  bit  hard  at  first ;  that's  only  what  one 
expects.  Without  bother  of  some  sort,  nothing  can 
be  done ;  in  fact  there's  a  certain  charm  about  it,  I 
think.  After  all,  what's  the  good  of  sticking  here  ? 
Think  what  a  life  it  is,  there !     Such  stir  and  move- 


150     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

ment  !  Everybody  alive  !  After  work,  a  students' 
meeting,  and  after  the  meeting  to  go  to  a  theatre  or 
to  the  library  !  Wlien  I  think  that  for  twenty  years 
I  have  stuck  in  this  beastly  hole,  I  feel  as  if  .  .  ." 

Pasha  Afanasief  pulled  out  a  rusty  nail  from  the 
fence  and  flung  it  into  the  grass  petulantly. 

In  the  distance,  beyond  the  green  bushes  and  trees 
of  the  garden,   one  could  hear  Vasilisa,   the  maid 
calling  : 

"  If  you  please,  miss,  lunch  is  ready.     A — u  !  " 

In  this  unexpected  woodland  cry,  "  A — u  !  "  there 
was  something  so  full  of  the  joy  of  life,  that  Lisa  and 
the  youth  exchanged  glances  and  smiled. 

"  I'm  coming  !  "  cried  Lisa  so  loud  that  her  voice 
echoed  across  the  garden.  Then  as  she  moved  away 
from  the  fence,  she  looked  grave  again,  and  said  in  a 
low  voice  : 

"  I  daresay  they  won't  let  me,  but  I  mean  to  go." 
Then,  after  a  pause  she  added,  "  I  have  made  up  my 
mind." 

Pasha  Afanasief  snapped  his  fingers  gleefully. 

"  I  say,  that's  capital,  Lisotchka ! "  he  cried. 
"  You  won't  regret  it,  Lisa  my  dear  !  And  as  for 
them,  they'll  be  furious  at  first,  and  then  they'll  give 
in,  while  the  whole  of  life  v/ill  lie  before  you.  What 
a  life  we  shall  lead  !  How  we  shall  work  !  The  time 
is  ripe  for  working.  We'll  form  our  own  special 
clique  and  look  about  us  for  men  of  action,"  he  added. 

"  Neither  of  us  really  knows  what  joy  it  is  to 
plunge  into  life's  crowd,  and  to  know  that  others,  as 
strong  and  eager,  march  bravely  onward  with  you, 
shoulder  to  shoulder  .  .  ." 

Clenching  his  fists,  he  threw  back  his  head,  proudly. 


MORNING  SHADOWS  151 

The  light  fell  on  his  face,  his  dark  eyes  gleamed  with 
enthusiasm,  making  his  ill-health,  as  judged  by  his 
features,  more  am^arent. 

Lisa  watched  him  attentively ;  then  she  sighed 
and  fingered  the  long  plait  of  her  hair. 

"  So  that's  settled,  eh  ?  "  asked  Pasha  Afanasief, 
as  he  laughingly  held  out  his  hand  to  her  across  the 
fence. 

Lisa  smiled  back  at  his  pleasant,  kindly  face,  and 
gave  him  her  pretty  little  hand  which  he  grasped 
cordially,  as  tears  came  into  his  eyes. 

"  Oh,  my  dearest  Lisotchka,"  he  said  affectionately. 

"  If  you  please,  miss,"  cried  Vasilisa  close  by. 

Lisa  nodded  to  her  companion  and  ran  quickly 
down  the  path. 

"  Oh  Lisa  !  "  he  cried,  tapping  his  forehead. 

Lisa  looked  round  and  stood  still. 

"  I  quite  forgot  to  tell  j^ou.  You'll  have  a  fellow- 
traveller,  Dora  Barshavskaia.  She  is  going  to  the 
Women's  College,  too.  She  is  from  the  High  School 
at  Poltava." 

"  Is  she  a  Jew  girl  ?  "  asked  Lisa  from  a  distance. 

"  A  Jew  girl  !  You  mean  a  Jewess  ?  "  Pasha 
Afanasief  was  annoyed.  "  I'm  ashamed  of  you, 
Lisa  !  Upon  my  word  I  am.  I  thought  you  knew 
better." 

"  Well,  I  didn't  tliink,"  she  said  calmly,  "  simply, 
I " 

"  I'll  introduce  you  to  her  to-day,  on  the  boulevard, 
shall  I  ?  "  asked  Pasha  Afanasief.  "  She  is  a  very 
good  and  highly  cultivated  girl." 

"  Yes,  do  introduce  me,"  Lisa  nodded  and  went  on. 

Pasha  Afanasief  watched  her  wistfully,  as  he  still 


152     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

clung  with  his  thin  hands  to  the  fence,  swaying 
shghtly  as  he  did  so.  Then  he  gazed  upwards  to  the 
patches  of  bright  blue  sky  which  were  visible  through 
the  trembling  leaves,  and  then  went  home  across  the 
grass,  where  red  and  white  daisies  and  other  wild 
flowers  grew  in  profusion. 

The  table  was  laid  in  the  veranda.  Pavel  Ivano- 
vitch  and  Olga  Petrovna  had  already  taken  their 
places.  Vasilisa  was  handing  round  a  white  tureen 
containing  cold  green  cabbage  soup,  the  countless 
little  coins  of  her  necklace  jingling  loudly,  as  her  large 
bosom  rose  and  fell.  Seriosha,  the  little  schoolboy, 
ran  out  to  meet  his  sister. 

"  I'm  coming,  I'm  coming  directly  !  "  she  called 
out,  as  she  suddenly  dodged  past  him,  and  ran  across 
the  lawn,  her  yellow  shoes  twinkling  in  the  sunshine. 

Seriosha,  with  a  shriek  of  dehght,  darted  in  pursuit. 
The  little  lapdog  on  the  veranda,  barked  in  astonish- 
ment, and  then  with  curly  tail  erect,  ran  after  them 
both. 

Pavel  Ivanovitch  solemnly  laid  down  the  paper, 
took  off  his  spectacles  and  smiled  good-naturedly. 

Olga  Petrovna  spilt  some  of  the  soup  and  laughed. 

"  How  full  of  fun  she  is  !  And  engaged  to  be 
married,  too  !  "  she  said  tenderly. 

Swift  as  an  arrow,  Lisa  ran  round  the  big  flower- 
bed, and  as  the  lapdog  got  in  the  way  of  her  dress, 
she  fell  with  both  hands  on  the  yellow  gravel.  The 
book  with  all  its  fluttering  leaves  tumbled  on  to  the 
grass. 

"  Aha  !  "  cried  Seriosha,  catching  hold  of  her  long 
plait,  "  I've  caught  you  !  " 

"  I  fell  down  of  my  own  accord,"  replied  Lisa,  as 


MORNING  SHADOWS  153 

she  rose,  picked  up  the  book  and  went  quietly  towards 
the  veranda. 

The  Httle  dog  fawned  round  her  feet  and  stood  up 
repeatedly  on  its*  hind  legs,  while  Seriosha  shook  his 
round,' closely-cropped  head  defiantly  : 

"  Oh,  yes  !  you  fell  down  !  I  should  have  caught 
you  anyhow." 

Lisa  sat  down  at  the  table  and  mechanically  took 
up  her  spoon,  being  lost  in  thought.  The  others 
watched  her  as  something  good  to  look  upon,  with 
her  beautiful  suggestion  of  vitality  and  youthful 
grace.  The  tinkle  of  spoons  could  be  heard  as  they 
touched  the  plates  ;  the  little  dog  sneezed  under  the 
table,  and  the  sun  scattered  gold  on  Lisa's  hair.  All 
was  homely,  peaceful,  and  bright. 


CHAPTER  II 

In  the  evening,  Ensign  Savinof  came,  Lisa's  fiance, 
with  his  tightly-fitting  riding-breeches,  glossy  boots, 
and  jingling  spurs. 

The  air  was  very  still,  and  in  the  light  of  the  setting 
sun  all  was  bathed  in  a  trembling,  golden  haze. 
Seriosha  took  his  cap  and  went  with  his  fishing-rod  to 
the  river.  Heaven  knows  why,  as  he  had  never  caught 
anything  yet.  Lisa,  after  twisting  up  her  hair  into  a 
thick  coil,  said  : 

"  Nikolai  Nikolaievitch,  let's  go  to  the  boulevard." 

The  ensign's  spurs  clinked  gleefully  as  he  hastened 
to  fetch  her  cloak.  On  the  boulevard  they  met 
Pasha  Afanasief.  He  was  walking  with  a  delicate- 
looking  girl.  She  had  a  singularly  large  head,  coarse 
black  hair,  and  Jewish,  almond-shaped  eyes,  and  she 
tripped  along  beside  her  companion. 

"  Oh,  there  you  are,  Lisa  !  "  said  Pasha  Afasanief. 

Then,  after  a  pause,  he  turned  to  the  ensign,  whom, 
in  common  with  all  soldiers,  he  did  not  like,  believing 
him  to  be  a  stupid,  empty-headed  person. 

"  Good  evening,  Mr.  Savinof." 

"  Good  evening  I"  was  the  pleasant  rejoinder. 

Then,  addressing  himself  to  Lisa  and  the  little 
Jewess,  Pasha  Afanasief  said  : 

"  Now  let  me  introduce  you  to  each  other.     This  is 


MORNING  SHADOWS  155 

Dora  Moiseievna  Barshavskaia,  and  this  is  Lisa 
Tchumakova,  about  whom  I've  already  told  you." 

Lisa  held  out  her  hand,  which  Dora  shook  hurriedly. 

"  I  am  very  pleased  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
Pasha  has  told  me  a  lot  about  you." 

At  the  end  of  the  boulevard  was  the  Military 
Casino,  and  in  the  gardens  a  band  was  playing.  The 
metallic  tones  of  the  wind  instruments  floated  out 
upon  the  air  in  successive  waves  of  sound,  which  were 
mournful  or  merry  in  turns.  The  girls  walked  first, 
followed  by  the  two  young  men. 

"  Trum-ta-ta  !  Trum-ta-ta-tam  !  "  hummed  the 
ensign  gaily. 

"  I  can't  stand  military  music ! "  said  Pasha 
Afanasief,  with  a  grimace.  He  didn't  say  this 
because  the  sound  of  the  brass  was  disagreeable  to 
him,  but  because  the  ensign  seemed  to  him  such  a 
dull,  depressing  kind  of  person. 

"  Really ! "  replied  the  other,  good-naturedly, 
raising  his  eyebrows. 

"  Yes,"  grumbled  Pasha  Afanasief,  "  the  sound  is 
boring  enough,  but  your  bandmaster  seems  to  pick 
out  the  silliest  tunes  possible.  Heaven  knows  where 
he  gets  them  !  And  yet  there's  plenty  of  good  music 
to  be  had.  Besides,  from  the  way  they  play,  you  can 
hear  that  they  don't  care  twopence  for  the  music  ; 
that  they  are  playing  just  to  amuse  the  people,  and 
they  certainly  succeed." 

"  But  surely,"  said  the  ensign,  "  it's  rather  nice 
to  hear  a  pretty  tune  like  that  on  such  a  lovely 
evening  ?  " 

Pasha  looked  scornfully  at  him  and  bit  his  lip. 

"  Now  that's  a  very  pretty  bit,"  said  Savinof,  as 


156     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLtJTION 

he  listened  with  evident  pleasure,  "  that's  from  The 
Geisha,'"  he  explained,  beating  time  with  his  fingers. 

"  H'm,"  was  Pasha  Afanasief  s  dubious  rejoinder. 

Lisa  glanced  round  sharply  at  her  fiance. 

"  Well,"  said  Pasha  Afanasief,  after  a  short  pause, 
"  we  shall  all  be  going  away  in  the  autumn." 

"  Yes,"  replied  Dora  dryly. 

"  Where    are   you  going  ?  "  asked  the  ensign  in 
surprise. 

"  Petersburg,"  replied  Pasha  Afanasief,  and  for  a 
moment  he  felt  sorry  for  the  ensign. 

"  And  Lisavieta  Pavlovna's  going,  too,  is  she  ? " 
asked  the  ensign,  with  a  slight  tremor  in  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  we're  all  going,"  said  Pasha  Afanasief. 

Savinof  was  silent. 

"  Have  you  decided  what  courses  you  are  going  to 
take  ?  "  asked  Dora. 

"  We  are  goi«ig  in  for  the  medical,"  replied  Pasha 
Afanasief  excitedly. 

"  Yes,  the  medical,"  said  Lisa  gravely. 

"  It  seems  to  me,  one  couldn't  possibly  choose 
anything  else,"  continued  Pasha.  "As  things  are 
now,  what  are  the  educational  classes  worth  ? 
Rubbish.  They  don't  allow  you  to  learn  what  you 
like  ;  and  to  have  the  A  B  C  drummed  into  you — no 
thank  you  !  But  medicine  is  another  matter.  To 
work  with  a  doctor  and  to  have  a  share  in  what  he 
does,  that's  not  so  easily  done.  How  splendid,  too, 
if  one  is  able  to  save  even  one  person  from  death  or 
suffering.  Perhaps  some  patient  is  given  up  as 
hopeless,  then  all  at  once  .  .  .  that's  the  way  to 
look  at  it !  " 
His  large  kind  eyes  grew  moist  with  emotion. 


MORNING  SHADOWS  157 


(« 


Yes,  and  besides  that,  it's  the  best  way  to  get  at 
the  people,"  remapked  Dora.  "  And  it's  easier,  too, 
for  a  doctor  to  do  propaganda  work." 

The  music  stcrpped  on  a  high  note,  brayed  forth  by 
a  brq,ss  instrument,  and  now  silence  ensued.  The 
stars  gleamed  faintly  above  the  town,  and  on  the 
boulevard  it  was  now  so  dark  that  faces  were  no 
longer  discernible.  Under  the  great  linden  trees  at 
the  end  of  it  one  could  just  see  glimmering  cigarettes, 
and  officers'  white  tunics. 

"  For  that  matter,"  continued  Pasha  Afanasief, 
as  if  replying  to  his  own  thoughts,  "  any  sort  of  work, 
so  long  as  it's  work.  Let  each  of  us  do  his  duty  ; 
good  will  result  from  it  some  day.  It's  not  work 
that's  the  most  important  thing,  but  that  each  should 
live  his  real,  true  life,  in  which  there  is  conflict  and 
victory  !  Oh,  when  I  think  that  in  two  or  three 
months  I  shall  be  ever  so  far  away  from  all  these 
colourless,  bloated,  drowsy  people,  with  their  petty 
interests,  my  very  heart  seems  to  burn  within  me  !  " 

The  ensign  muttered  something  under  his  breath. 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  Lisa  sharply. 

Savinof  did  not  speak. 

"  The  main  thing  is  to  learn,  learn,  learn,"  said 
Dora,  as  she  shook  her  head  energetically.  "  In  that 
lies  power ;  in  that  lies  everything.  We  need 
educated,  cultured  people.  We've  had  enough  of 
amateurs." 

"  Certainly,"  said  Pasha.  "  One  must  know  every- 
thing, in  order  to  be  able  to  understand  all  the  beauty 
and  joy  of  life." 

"  And  widen  our  outlook,"  remarked  Savinof 
suddenly,  with  strange  emphasis. 


158     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

All  the  others  ceased  speaking,  and  the  silence 
became  almost  painful.  Lisa  looked  at  him,  but  saw 
hardly  anything  but  his  white  tunic,  and  Pasha 
Afanasief  gave  vent  to  a  hostile  chuckle. 

"  It's  time  to  go  home,"  he  said. 

Dora  yawned.     "  Ye-es." 

They  all  accompanied  Dora  to  her  house  door,  and 
then  walked  on  together.  On  the  way  Pasha  Afana- 
sief asked  Savinof  if  he  had  read  Nietzsche  and  Marx, 
who  said  that  he  had,  but  in  a  tone  so  undecided 
that  Pasha  Afanasief  maliciously  inquired  if  he  could 
call  to  mind  any  passage  from  these  authors. 

"  No,  I  really  can't  at  the  moment,"  he  said 
confusedly.  "  I  can't  recollect  anything.  But,  you 
see,  we  have  so  little  time  to  ourselves." 

Lisa  listened  attentively  to  what  they  said,  and  it 
seemed  quite  strange  to  her  that  only  a  short  time 
before  she  could  have  thought  of  marrying  the  ensign. 

Now  she  felt  determined  that  under  no  circum- 
stances would  she  do  this  ;  yet  without  knowing  why, 
the  thought  made  her  feel  sad. 

On  reaching  home,  Pasha  Afanasief  said  good-bye, 
and  Savinof  walked  with  Lisa  a  few  steps  further 
to  the  gate  of  her  house.  They  could  hear  Pasha 
Afanasief  clattering  up  the  wooden  stairs  and  rattling 
at  the  bolt. 

"  Au  revoir,  Nikolai  Nikolaievitch,"  said  Lisa, 
giving  him  her  hand.  The  ensign  took  it,  but 
immediately  let  it  fall. 

"  Lisavieta  Pavlovna,"  he  began  suddenly  in  a 
trembling  voice,  which,  coming  from  such  a  big, 
tall  man,  was  strangely  touching ;  "  so  it's  true  then, 
that  you're  going  away  ?  " 


MORNING  SHADOWS  159 

Lisa  suddenly  remembered  how  Pasha  Afanasief 
had  laughingly  assured  her  that  as  soon  as  she  told 
Savinof  of  her  intended  departure,  he  would  produce 
a  cannon  from  his  pocket  and  shoot  himself. 

"  Yes,  I'm  going  away,"  she  replied  in  a  dry, 
almost  hostile  tone.  She  had  never  spoken  to  any- 
body like  this  before.  The  ensign  remained  silent 
for  a  time.  A  feeling  that  all  was  hopeless  oppressed 
him. 

"  Oh,  you  are  really  going,"  he  asked ;  "  but 
why  ?  " 

"  To  study,  of  course."  Lisa  shrugged  her  soft 
shoulders,  and  looked  severe. 

"  Is  that  absolutely  necessary  ?  " 

Lisa  did  not  answer.  It  seemed  to  her  more  and 
more  extraordinary  that  she  should  ever  have  thought 
of  marrying  such  a  dull-witted,  narrow-minded  man. 

"  Well,  it's  time  I  was  at  home,"  she  said  coolly ; 
"  good-bye." 

"  But  what  about  me,  Lisavieta  Pavlovna  ?  What 
am  I  to  ...  A  bullet  through  my  head  ?  "  stammered 
the  ensign,  hardly  knowing  what  he  said. 

"  Shot  Out  of  a  cannon,  I  suppose  ?  "  asked  Lisa 
gravely. 

"  N-no.  .  .  .  Why  out  of  a  cannon  ?  "  Savinof 
seemed  puzzled. 

"  Well,  good-bye  !  "     Lisa  held  out  her  hand. 

Savinof  wanted  to  say  something  more,  but 
refrained.  For  a  moment  he  stood  still,  and  then 
walked  slowly  down  the  street,  his  spurs  continually 
getting  in  his  way.  In  the  darkness,  somewhere 
behind  the  fence,  the  night  watchman  could  be  heatd 
knocking  drearily. 


CHAPTER  III 

Four  months  later,  Lisa  and  Dora  travelled  to 
Petersburg.  Pasha  Afanasief  had  already  gone  there, 
and  he  was  to  meet  them  at  the  railway  station. 
They  travelled  third  class.  Autumn  had  come,  and 
the  days  were  grey,  but  hazy  and  calm.  On  the  day 
of  this  journey  it  rained  without  ceasing  ;  everything 
was  dripping  wet :  the  carriages,  the  sleepers,  the 
station-master.  The  little  streams  and  pools  that 
flew  past,  were  all  dimpled  by  the  heavy  raindrops. 

Dora  sat  in  her  corner  of  the  carriage  reading, 
while  Lisa  stood  on  the  covered  platform  at  the  end 
of  the  train,  and  with  her  large,  questioning  eyes 
looked  back  at  the  grey  horizon.  She  still  seemed 
to  see  her  native  town  that  she  had  left  behind  her, 
her  father  and  mother,  Seriosha,  the  little  puppy,  the 
old  house,  and  all  that  she  loved.  They  all  seemed 
to  be  just  beyond  the  horizon ;  indeed,  if  she  stood 
on  tiptoe,  she  felt  sure  that  she  could  see  them. 

"  Tra-ta-ta  ;  tra-ta-ta,"  rattled  the  train  rhjrthmi- 
cally,  as  with  iron  brutality  it  plunged  forward. 

"  Tra-ra-rach,"  groaned  a  big  iron  bridge  which 
spanned  a  yellow  river.  Lisa  looked  down  at  the 
boats  and  the  barges,  which  had  the  appearance  of 
little  toys.  Ranged  one  behind  the  other,  they  were 
laden  with  dripping  timber,  as  grey  little  men  punted 


MORNING  SHADOWS  161 

them  forwards  with  long  poles.  There  was  something 
melancholy  about  this  yellow  river,  where  in  places 
by  the  shore  stood  slender  pines  and  birch-trees. 
To  Lisa  it  all  seemed  weird  and  cold  and  strange. 

"  What  are  they  doing  down  there  ?  "  she  thought. 

Incomprehensible  and,  therefore,  terrible  to  her 
seemed  the  work  of  these  little  men  with  their  long 
poles  ;  the  river  with  its  vague  currents  ;  the  denizens 
of  these  dreary  yellow  shores  with  their  solitary 
pine-trees  and  binphes. 

As  dusk  was  falling,  Lisa  sighed  and  went  back  to 
the  railway  carriage,  where  the  lighted  lamps  set 
huge  shadows  in  motion.     She  sat  down  beside  Dora. 

"  Where  are  we  going  ?  "  was  what  she  would  like 
to  have  asked  with  her  whole  heart  and  soul,  but 
instead  of  that,  she  said  languidly  : 

"  Pasha  will  meet  us,  won't  he  ?  " 

"  Of  course  he  will,"  replied  Dora.  For  a  long 
while  she  had  ceased  reading,  and  felt  thoroughly 
depressed  by  her  surroundings  in  this  big,  uncomfort- 
able railway-carriage,  full  of  dirty,  ill-tempered- 
looking  persons  who  were  crunching  dried  sun- 
flower seeds  {siemiaichki),  talking  boisterously,  play- 
ing the  concertina,  and  quarrelling.  In  this  moment 
that  unknown  life  of  her  dreams,  full  of  conflict  and 
triumph,  seemed  unattainable,  in  fact  impossible. 
She  was  glad  that  Lisa  had  come,  and  looked  out 
at  her  from  her  dark  corner  with  shining  eyes. 

"  Lisotchka,"  she  said  gently.  She  took  Lisa's 
soft,  warm  hand  in  hers,  Lisa  looked  at  her  affection- 
ately, and  suddenly  put  her  arms  round  Dora  and 
clasped  her  closely. 

"  Well,  have  a  look  first  and  then  come  over  here 

L 


162     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

for  a  chat,"  cried  somebody  behind  the  wooden 
partition. 

"  Quee  !  "  wailed  the  doleful  concertina. 

A  tall,  gaunt  workman  in  a  woollen  jacket  and  a 
long  red  smock,  which  hung  over  his  trousers,  came 
stumbling  out  of  the  adjoining  compartment,  and 
sat  down  opposite  Lisa. 

"  Where  are  you  going,  may  I  ask,  miss  ?  "  he 
said  after  a  pause.     There  was  a  smell  of  vodka. 

"  To  Petersburg,"  replied  Lisa. 

Another  man,  probably  a  soldier,  with  a  coarse, 
red  moustache,  and  features  marked  by  smallpox, 
began  looking  over  the  partition. 

*'  Oh,  indeed  !  "  said  the  workman,  as  he  gazed 
with  dull,  drunken  persistence  at  Lisa's  face  and 
bosom. 

She  felt  afraid.  The  soldier  laughed  and  suddenly 
looked  over  again. 

"  What  are  you  staring  at  ?  "  asked  the  workman, 
and  the  thick  tone  of  his  voice  and  slight  rocking 
motion  of  his  body,  showed  that  he  was  very  drunk. 

"  Lisa  !  "  cried  Dora  in  alarm,  "  lets  go  out  on  the 
platform  for  a  little  while." 

"  What !  don't  you  want  to  talk  to  me  ?  "  cried 
the  workman  angrily. 

"  Why  not  ?  "  replied  Lisa  hastily. 

"  Well,  I  wanted  to  ask  you  why  you  were  going 
to  Petersburg  ?  " 

"  We  are  going  to  study,"  said  Lisa. 

Again  the  soldier  laughed. 

"  Study  !  "  repeated  the  workman,  "  and  not . . .  ?  " 
The  soldier  snorted  like  a  horse  and  bumped  his  face 
delightfully   against   the   partition.     Dora   began   to 


MORNING  SHADOWS  163 

cry,  and  Lisa  kept  her  eyes  fixed  attentively  on  the 
workman. 

"  I'll  punch  your  head  for  you  in  a  minute," 
exclaimed  an  old  peasant  from  the  other  side  of  the 
carriage  suddenly.  "  I'll  teach  you  to  insult  people 
like  that,  you  blockhead  !  " 

The  workman  turned  to  him  with  a  drunken  leer. 
"  That's  all  right.  The  devil  can  take  her  for  all  I 
care !  "  And  with  another  obscene  expression  or 
two,  he  got  up  and  went  away. 

"  What  a  gang  !  "  said  the  old  peasant,  who  also 
got  up. 

After  that  there  was  silence,  and  as  evening  came 
on,  the  air  in  the  railway  carriage  became  more  foul. 

Dora  lay  back  in  her  seat,  being  afraid  to  move, 
and  Lisa  went  out  to  the  platform  again,  from  which 
nothing  could  now  be  seen,  and  which  was  damp  and 
cold.  There,  in  a  nervous  and  depressed  state,  she 
remained  for  nearly  two  hours.  She  thought  again 
of  how,  two  days  ago,  they  had  accompanied  her  to 
the  station,  and  how  Seriosha  and  her  mother  had 
wept,  because  at  home  it  would  be  so  lonely  without 
her.  Then  at  the  station  she  remembered  how 
Savinof  had  suddenly  appeared  in  a  long  grey  cloak, 
drenched  with  the  rain,  and  how  pale  and  distressed 
he  looked. 

"  Lisavieta  Pavlovna,"  he  said  in  a  trembling  voice, 
"  I  wanted  to  speak  to  you." 

Lisa  felt  disinclined  for  this.  All  that  could  be 
said  had  already  been  discussed  a  hundred  times. 
At  first  she  had  felt  sorry  for  the  ensign,  but  now 
she  had  begun  to  be  annoyed  with  him  ;  not  because 
he  bored  her,  but  because  all  the  others  laughed  at 


164     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

him  ;  and  she  felt  ashamed  at  having  very  nearly 
bec(^me  his  wife. 

"  He  is  trying  his  best  to  stop  you,"  Pasha  had 
said  ;  "  poor  chap,  he  is  very  much  cut  up,  and  yet 
he  looks  like  a  turkey  that  has  had  its  tail  feathers 
pulled  out." 

Yet  still  she  walked  along  the  platform  with  him, 
which  owing  to  the  rain  was  quite  empty. 

"  Be  quick,  be  quick  !  "  said  Dora. 

"  In  a  moment,"  replied  Lisa  firmly. 

"  I  shan't  detain  Lisavieta  very  long,"  added  the 
ensign  sadly.  He  sighed  heavily  and  looked  down 
at  his  varnished  boots  all  splashed  with  mud. 

"  Well,  what  is  it  you  want  to  say  to  me  ?  "  asked 
Lisa. 

"  I  .  .  .  then  all  is  over  between  us,  is  it  ?  " 

From  the  tone  of  his  voice  it  was  plain  that  he 
knew  that  well  enough.  Lisa  was  silent.  The  first 
bell  rang.     Again  he  sighed. 

"  Lisavieta,"  he  hastily  murmured,  "  I  daresay 
I  am  rather  ridiculous  and  not  a  man  of  any  par- 
ticular .  .  .  but  I  don't  wish  to  stop  you  .  .  .  You'll 
never  find  a  man  more  devoted  to  you  than  I  am. 
You  know  that.  I  can't  think  why  you  want  to  go 
away  when  we  were  all  so  happy  together  here.  Of 
course  I'm  not  worthy  of  you,  but  I  would  willingly 
follow  you  on  foot  if  I  could,  but  be  sure  that  .  .  . 
Forgive  me,  Lisavieta  Pavlovna,  if  I  .  .  ." 

Suddenly  his  lips  quivered,  and  the  expression  of 
his  face  became  pitiably  childish  as  he  abruptly  ceased 
speaking.  Then  with  great  energy  he  proceeded  to 
carry  her  luggage,  as  he  shouted  to  the  porter,  and 
as  the  train  moved  out  of  the  station,  he  waved  his 
cap  for  a  long  while. 


MORNING  SHADOWS  165 

"  He  is  not  really  half  bad,"  was  Dora's  opinion 
of  Savinof ;    "  only  he  is  such  a  frightful  bore." 

As  Lisa  looked  out  of  the  dark  window-pane,  she 
thought  how  it  would  have  been  if,  when  the  workman 
insulted  her,  the  door  had  opened,  and  Savinof  had 
come  in.  She  had  a  sudden  longing  to  see  him  and 
to  walk  through  the  garden,  nestling  against  his  arm, 
out  of  harm's  way  and  leading  her  old  simple,  peaceful 
life.  She  wept  silently,  and  large  tears  rolled  down 
her  childish  face. 


CHAPTER  IV 

In  one  of  the  wards  of  the  Army  Medical  Hospital 
it  was  bright,  for  through  the  open  window  the  soft 
spring  air  rushed  in.  Pasha  Afanasief  sat  at  the 
window  overlooking  the  garden,  where  there  were 
more  green  hedges  than  trees,  and  where  each  tree 
had  a  label  attached  to  it  with  its  name  in  Russian 
and  Latin.  On  his  knees  lay  a  book,  and  so  thin 
and  transparent  were  the  hands  that  held  it  that 
they  were  painful  to  behold. 

Lisa,  Dora,  and  a  student  named  Andreief  sat 
silently  beside  him.  They  had  no  heart  to  talk  about 
anything,  because  one  of  the  doctors  had  just  told 
them  in  the  passage  that  Afanasief  would  die  within 
the  week.  His  continual  over-exertion  and  the  change 
of  climate  had  hastened  the  inevitable  end. 

"  The  fellow's  burnt  himself  out,  more's  the  pity," 
said  the  doctor. 

Nevertheless,  though  it  exhausted  him,  Pasha  talked 
without  ceasing  ;  and  they  let  him  talk,  for  they 
knew  that  it  could  make  no  difference. 

"  When  I  had  read  that,"  said  Pasha  in  a  faint 
voice,  catching  his  breath  every  now  and  then,  "  it 
was  as  if  a  window  had  been  opened  in  my  room,  and 
that  sunshine  was  all  around  me.  This  grey,  dull, 
joyless  view  of  life,  it  devours  the  soul,  and  now  at 


MORNING  SHADOWS  167 

last  ...  A  splendid  fellow  !  What  a  note  of  triumph  ! 
This  book  here,"  and  he  tapped  it  with  his  thin 
fingers  ;  "  this  is  no  simple  story  to  attract  girls,  but 
a  symbol  of  the  deepest  importance." 

They  knew  what  novel  it  was  of  which  he  spoke. 
It  was  one  which  had  pleased  them  all,  but  it  was 
distressing  to  them  to  hear  this  enthusiastic  praise 
of  it  from  one  who  was  so  near  his  death. 

"  Oh,  that  there  were  more  such  brave,  appealing 
voices  !  "  exclaimed  Pasha  dreamily.  "  One  must  go 
on  rousing,  go  on  calling,  and  telling  everybody  that 
there  is  no  such  thing  as  life  without  work  that  is 
mighty  and  sustained  !  The  main  thing  is,  that 
our  own  petty  interests  must  disappear,  when  the 
whole  world  lies  before  us,  in  which  to  work  for  the 
universal  good.  My  dear  Lisotchka,"  he  continued, 
*'  I'm  so  glad  that  I  was  able  to  drag  you  out  of  our 
swamp — glad  for  you,  and  glad  for  myself !  It  is 
no  slight  gain  to  have  rescued  anyone,  and  especially 
such  a  sweet  dear  girl  as  yourself.  And  it  was  I 
who  did  it,  wasn't  it  ?  Well,  not  altogether,  for 
books  had  a  good  deal  to  do  with  it,  too  "  ;  and  he 
tapped  the  book  again,  "  but  still  .  .  ." 

For  awhile  he  was  silent,  and  then  with  evident 
difficulty  continued  : 

"  Now,  Lisotchka,  when  I  am  dead,  for  such  a 
thing  is  possible,  isn't  it  ?  I  leave  you  to  carry  on 
my  work.  You  are  my  work,  and  so  in  your  kind, 
good  self  I  shall  live  on.  Yes,  Lisotchka,  so  it  is. 
What  melancholy  thoughts,  to  be  sure  !  Don't  you 
remember  how  you  were  going  to  marry  the  ensign 
who  wanted  to  put  a  cannon-ball  through  his  head  ?  " 
He  laughed  merrily. 


168     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  Yes,  I  remember,  Pasha,"  replied  Lisa  sadly. 

"  Ah,  well,  good  luck  to  him  !  Do  you  know  that 
at  last  I  felt  quite  sorry  for  him,  for  really  it  was  not 
his  fault  that  fate  and  his  fellows  had  made  him  just 
a  fool.  I  daresay  that  he  suffered  a  good  deal,  too. 
Ah,  well  !  " 

Then,  as  a  sad  look  came  into  his  eyes,  he  added  : 

"  Anyhow,  the  main  thing  has  been  accomplished, 
and  whatever  happens,  it  now  rests  with  you,  my 
dear  Lisotchka." 

As  they  got  up  to  go,  he  turned  to  Andreief  and 
said  : 

"  I  say,  old  boy,  will  you  take  all  the  literature  * 
at  my  place  to  Bogdanof  ?  There  is  some  important 
stuff  among  it.     Well,  good-bye,  my  dear  friends  !  " 

As  they  reached  the  door.  Pasha  suddenly  called 
out  : 

"  Lisotchka,  Lisa  !  " 

She  ran  back  to  him,  while  the  other  two  remained 
in  the  passage. 

"  Lisotchka,"  he  murmured,  as  if  afraid  of  being 
overheard,  "  the  spring  is  here,  and  perhaps  with 
us  at  home  the  snow  is  melting.  .  .  .  Lisotchka,  the 
doctor  said  that  if  I  had  always  lived  in  the  south, 
I  might  very  likely  have  recovered  "  ;  and  into  his 
dark  eyes  the  tears  rose  and  quivered  on  their  lashes. 

*  The  usual  term  for  illegal  political  writings. 


CHAPTER  V 

It  was  on  a  grey,  warm  day  that  they  buried  Pasha. 
In  the  grave  there  was  yellowish,  muddy  water,  and 
on  the  paths  there  were  puddles  of  half-melted  snow  ; 
while  the  soft  clay  made  walking  so  difficult  that  the 
coffin  swayed,  and  was  jolted  as  it  was  borne  to  the 
grave. 

"  Keep  step,  gentleman,  please  !  Keep  step  !  " 
cried  one  of  the  bearers,  a  student,  as  a  corner  of  the 
coffin  kept  cutting  his  shoulder,  and  which  knocked 
off  his  cap.  Mould  rattled  at  first  on  the  coffin-lid, 
and  then  splashed  gently  into  the  yellowish  water. 
The  students,  both  young  men  and  girls,  all  stood 
silently  on  a  mound,  a  black  patch  against  the  white 
desolate  ground. 

"  Larionof,  a  speech  !  Say  something  !  "  cried 
some  one.     But  Larionof  was  too  bashful. 

A  very  young  and  handsome  student,  with  a  look 
on  his  face  of  enthusiasm,  if  not  of  very  great  intelli- 
gence, suddenly  came  forward,  and,  waving  his  cap 
above  his  curly  head,  exclaimed  : 

"  Fate  gives  nothing  without  demanding  a  sacrifice 
like  this,  in  return." 

He  ceased  abruptly,  his  face  hot  and  flushed,  and 
there  was  general  silence,  while  crows  hovered  above 
the  melting  snow.     The  whole  scene  was  intensely  sad. 


170     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  WcH,  let  us  go,"  said  Dora  to  Lisa. 

With  her  tear-stained  eyes,  which  expressed  both 
affection  and  perplexity,  Lisa  glanced  at  the  grave, 
and  whispered  : 

"  Yes,  let  us  go." 

At  the  entrance  to  the  cemetery,  they  took  the 
tram  through  the  long  streets  towards  Dora's  home. 
All  the  male  passengers  stared  at  the  handsome, 
buxom  Lisa,  though,  as  usual,  she  never  noticed  this  ; 
but  Dora  did,  and  it  annoyed  her.  When  they  got 
out  of  the  tram  and  walked  along  the  street  to  Dora's 
lodging,  she  sighed  and  said  : 

"  Well,  now  he  is  buried  "  ;  and  shuddering  as  if 
with  cold,  she  added,  "  How  simple  it  all  is  !  How 
fearfully  simple  !  " 

At  this,  tears  rolled  again  down  Lisa's  cheeks. 
*'  Poor  dear  Pasha  !  "  she  murmured. 

"  Are  you  coming  in  ?  "  said  Dora,  as  they  stood 
in  the  gloomy  doorway. 

"  I  don't  know  ;   perhaps  I  will,"  sighed  Lisa. 

They  crossed  the  little  courtyard  and  climbed  up 
the  evil-smelling  stairs  to  the  fourth  floor.  Dora's 
room  was  small  and  badly  lighted,  with  a  few  pieces 
of  shabby  furniture  in  it.  The  damp  walls  and  the 
chilly  atmosphere  convinced  one  that  sunlight  never 
entered  there.  Lisa  sat  down  on  the  bed,  while 
Dora  stood  near  the  table  and  gazed  vaguely  out  of 
the  window.  During  the  last  few  days  they  had 
been  so  excited  and  so  busy ;  there  had  been  so 
many  sad  conversations,  so  much  hurrying  hither 
and  thither,  so  much  chanting,  incense-burning,  light- 
ing of  tapers  and  weeping,  that  it  now  seemed  strange 
and  almost  disagreeable  to  go  back  to  this  sudden 


MORNING  SHADOWS  171 

silence  ;  to  sit  down  and  have  one's  meals  ;  to  go 
to  bed  ;  or  to  do  any  ordinary  daily  work  as  before. 
Both  girls  felt  intensely  depressed- 

"  To-morrow  is  anatomy,"  said  Lisa  languidly, 
endeavouring  to  talk  of  something  else.  Dora  was 
silent. 

"  Exams  will  soon  be  over,"  continued  Lisa,  trying 
to  get  away  from  her  intolerable  grief.  "  I  had  a 
letter  from  home  yesterday." 

"  Oh,  indeed  !  "  said  Dora  mechanically. 

"  Yes,  mother  writes  that  the  spring  is  come  in  all 
its  glory,  the  days  are  warm  and  beautiful." 

Lisa  stopped  and  sighed.  She  wanted  to  say  she 
was  longing  for  home,  for  the  green  grass,  the  warmth, 
and  the  peaceful  life.  Everything  here  was  weari- 
some to  her,  but  feeling  vaguely  shy  of  Dora,  she  did 
not  dare  to  do  so.  Suddenly  Dora  ran  towards  her, 
and  clasping  her  hands  exclaimed  : 

"  Oh,  Lisa,  Lisotchka,  how  boring,  how  dreadful 
it  all  is  !  It's  so  different  from  what  .  .  .  from 
what  .  .  .  ." 

Tears  at  once  rose  to  Lisa's  eyes.  She  felt  such 
intense  pity  for  Dora ;  and  with  a  touch  of  maternal 
tenderness  she  put  her  arms  round  the  other's  slim 
waist  and  drew  her  closer  to  her. 

"  Never  mind,  Dorotchka,  my  dear  one  !  "  she  said, 
kissing  her  hair  and  her  cheek. 

"  Shall  I  bring  you  the  samovar  ?  "  asked  the  land- 
lady in  a  surly  voice  from  behind  the  door. 

Dora  started  back  and  Lisa  replied,  "  yes,  bring 
it  in." 

The  fat,  dirty  landlady  from  the  provinces,  who 
hated  the  female  students,  because  they  led  a  better 


172     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

life  than  she  did,  though  she  had  to  put  up  with  them 
as  lodgers  for  fifteen  roubles,  brought  in  a  rusty  tea- 
urn  with  a  crooked  stand. 

"  Do  you  want  white  bread,  too  ?  "  she  asked 
grumpily,  without  looking  at  anybody. 

"  No,"  replied  Dora  quickly.  Both  Lisa  and  Dora 
were  somewhat  afraid  of  the  woman,  though  they 
never  liked  to  admit  this.  In  her  presence  they 
were  ill  at  ease,  and  if  they  met  her  in  the  passage, 
they  tried  to  slip  past  her  unnoticed. 

The  landlady  scrutinized  the  room,  evidently 
anxious  to  find  fault  with  something,  and  then  grabbed 
the  washing-basin  in  which  there  was  a  little  dirty 
water,  and  bounced  out  of  the  room,  banging  the  door. 

For  a  long  time  Lisa  and  Dora  sat  in  silence. 
Lisa's  grief  for  Pasha's  death  was  blended  with  a  dull 
feeling  of  despair  and  perplexity.  To  her  it  seemed 
utterly  inconceivable  that  he  had  gone  out  of  her  life, 
and  that  everything  in  it  must  go  on  just  as  before. 
Dora  began  to  move  gently  about  the  room.  She 
made  tea  and  seemed  lost  in  her  thoughts.  The  tea- 
urn  made  a  droning,  mournful  noise,  and  again  Lisa 
wept  silently. 

An  hour  later,  the  students  Larionof  and  Andreief 
came  in.  The  former,  a  fat,  short-sighted  youth,  at 
once  began  to  talk  about  Pasha  Afanasief. 

"  In  my  opinion,  he  was  a  most  remarkable, 
wonderful  fellow,"  he  said,  m  a  tone  of  mournful 
enthusiasm.  "  In  him  there  was  a  certain  extra- 
ordinary force,  and  it  is  impossible  to  believe  that 
that  force  can  so  soon  die  out.  One  thing,  in  fact  the 
main  thing,  was,  that  he  had  the  faculty  of  influencing 
others.  It  almost  looks  to  me  as  if  our  work  would 
now  cease." 


MORNING  SHADOWS  173 

"  No,  it  won't  cease,"  said  Andreief,  shaking  his 
head. 

"  Perhaps  not." 

"  After  all,  Afahasief  had  no  practical  qualities." 

"  That's  true  enough,"  replied  Larionof.  "  But  he 
knew  how  to  vitalize  everything.  He  had  such  a 
way  with  him ;  he  was  such  a  wonderful  personality. 
Now  he  is  gone,  we  .  .  ." 

"  Oh,  you're  just  a  feeble  fellow,  and  that's  all 
about  it,"  interrupted  Andreief  rudely,  as  he  bit  the 
end  of  his  moustache. 

"  Very  likely,"  replied  Larionof,  "  but  the  fact  is, 
that  latterly  I  have  felt  so  disheartened  about  every- 
thing. After  reading  something  stirring,  or  after 
hearing  Afanasief  speak,  one  used  to  feel  enthusiastic, 
as  if  one  were  moved  to  do  great  things.  Then 
afterwards,  other  thoughts  come  and  one  seems  to 
lose  heart.  During  my  first  year,  and  even  in  the 
second,  things  were  different.  Everything  interested 
one.  One  attended  lectures,  or  shouted  at  meet- 
ings, or  pored  over  books,  and  everything  was  so 
jolly.  .  .  ." 

"  Why  not  ?  "  jeered  Andreief. 

"  "Why  not,  indeed  ?  But  after  a  time  I  began  to 
think,  '  I  am  learning  all  this.  Good  !  But  it's  not 
a  question  of  learning  only.  My  whole  life  is  not 
going  to  be  given  up  to  science.  The  point  is  this  : 
what  am  I  doing  all  this  for  ?  '  And  to  that  question 
I  could  find  no  answer." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  asked  Dora,  looking 
up. 

"  Well,  just  that.     I  could  find  no  answer." 

"  It's  strange  that  you  should  say  that,"  began 
Dora.     "  A  year  ago  or  less  than  that,  I  came  here 


174     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

feeling  so  full  of  enthusiasm,  and  the  important  thing 
is,  that  what  I  expected  to  find,  I  found  ;  papers, 
newspapers,  scientific  lectures,  meetings — everything 
of  which  I  had  heard  and  read.  Now,  after  six 
months,  I  feel  that  everything  seems  empty.  It  all 
wearies  me.  In  fact,  so  loathsome  is  it  to  me,  that 
very  soon  I  believe  I  shall  envy  Pasha  Afanasief." 

She  said  no  more,  and  there  was  silence.  Behind 
the  wall  the  sound  of  voices  suddenly  became  audible, 
and  the  clatter  of  crockery. 

"  I  sometimes  think,"  she  went  on,  **  how,  two 
years  ago,  I  Avas  teaching  in  a  school,  and  how  squalid 
and  insufferably  dull  it  all  seemed  to  me  then.  The 
village  was  so  grey,  the  peasants  drunken,  the  children 
stupid.  My  own  life  appeared  just  as  grey  and 
stupid.  And  now  I  sometimes  think  that  it  was  all 
rather  nice  !  The  village,  and  the  little  wood  full  of 
birch-trees  where  every  day  I  used  to  walk,  and  the 
children,  especially  one,  such  a  dear  boy  he  was  ! 
Then  again,  at  times  I  think  that  perhaps  I  made  a 
mistake  and  that  I  ought  to  go  back  and  begin  the  old 
life  over  again.  Yet,  no ;  that  would  only  be  tedious,  and 
not  so  much  tedious,  perhaps,  as  galling.  For  how  could 
I  possibly  vegetate  there  for  the  rest  of  my  life  ?  " 

Lisa  from  her  corner  sighed  deeply. 

"  Well,"  said  Andreief,  still  gnawing  the  end  of  his 
moustache,  "  who  was  it  persuaded  you  to  come  here 
at  all  ?     And  what  was  it  that  you  wanted  ?  " 

"  Wanted  ?     Why,  to  see  life  !  "  replied  Dora. 

"  Life  !  "  exclaimed  Andreief,  "  what  is  life  ?  Tell 
me  that,  pray  !     Give  me  a  cigarette,  Larionof." 

"  Well,  that's  plain  enough,"  drawled  Dora. 

"  Then  do  define  it,  please.     In  what  does  this  life 


MORNING  SHADOWS  175 

consist  ?  In  attending  classes  and  lectures  ?  In 
studying  science  or  politics  ?     Is  that  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  it  does,  to  some  extent." 

"  Well,  you've  ^ot  all  that.  What  else  do  you 
want  ?  " , 

"  That  I  don't  know.  I  only  feel  that  the  most 
important  thing  of  all  is  just  what  I  haven't  got." 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  you  want,"  said  Andreief,  in  a 
tone  of  decision. 

"  Aha  !  That  will  be  most  interesting,"  sneered 
Dora,  and  in  her  dark  eyes  there  was  a  wicked  gleam. 
It  annoyed  her  to  think  that  Andreief  believed  that 
he  knew  more  than  she  did. 

"  Love,  and  self-respect — that's  what  you  want." 

"  How  do  you  make  that  out  ?  "  asked  Dora,  in 
the  same  tone. 

"  The  life  for  which  you  are  fitted  always  seems  to 
you  a  miserable  one,  and  you  long  to  get  away  from 
it  and  be  something  else,  something  more  than  you 
really  are." 

"  Tliat's  very  funny,  upon  my  word  !  "  exclaimed 
Dora,  incensed. 

"  Not  funny  in  the  least,"  observed  Larionof,  "  for, 
after  all,  it's  no  more  than  the  truth." 

"  How  can  it  be  anything  else  ?  "  said  Andreief,  as 
he  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  You  are  such  good 
Jesuits,  always  ready  to  grovel  to  some  apostle  or 
other,  be  he  working-man,  schoolmaster,  or  peasant. 
But  if,  one  fine  morning,  Eate  should  compel  you  to 
cart  stones  or  clay  about,  or  drum  the  alphabet  into 
snivelling  infants,  then  you  grow  melancholy  and  are 
ashamed  to  meet  an  acquaintance  !  Why  is  this  ? 
Because  you've  no  pride,  no  amour  propre,  no  self- 


176     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

respect.  You  won't  see  that  other  people's  lives  can 
only  be  interesting  or  significant  in  so  far  as  they  are 
related  to  your  own." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  cried  Larinof  angrily. 

"  Look  here,  I'm  a  peasant,"  shouted  Andreief, 
clenching  his  fists.  "  All  my  Hfe  I've  had  to  work 
for  my  living,  and  have  been  used  to  consider  that  I 
myself  am  all  in  all  to  myself.  It  is  all  the  same  to 
me  what  position  I  occupy  with  regard  to  other  men, 
so  long  as  I  am  satisfied  and  happy.  But  you  others, 
you  don't  know  what  you  want  nor  yet  of  what  you 
are  capable.  If  you  happen  to  be  one  of  a  band  of 
conspirators  it's  only  because  others  are  in  it,  too, 
and  if  you  try  to  see  life,  it's  only  because  you've 
been  told  that  life  is  good.  Now,  if  I  want  to  become 
a  conspirator,  I  do  so  simply  and  solely  because  it 
pleases  me,  personally,  and  nobody  else.  Thus, 
without  the  least  ado,  I  should  die,  or  cause  some  one 
else  to  die  and  never  turn  a  hair  !     That's  a  fact !  " 

"  How  simple  it  all  sounds  !  "  said  Dora  mockingly. 

*'  And  I  suppose  you'd  like  it  to  be  complicated, 
eh  ?  "  asked  Andreief,  in  a  cutting  tone.  "  You've 
got  Christianity,  patriotism,  humanity,  idealism, 
Marxism,  all  at  your  finger-ends.  Very  pretty,  no 
doubt,  but  what  about  your  own  selves  ?  Where's 
your  own  free,  individual  life  ?  " 

"  Wait  a  moment,"  broke  in  Larinof. 

"  What  is  there  to  wait  for  ?  "  cried  the  other, 
tossing  back  his  head.  "  But  I  think  we've  reached 
the  turning-point  now.  In  ten  or  twenty  years'  time 
you  will  be  looked  upon  as  monstrous  cripples.  One 
will  never  be  able  to  understand  how  such  invertebrate, 
cowardly  creatures  ever  existed." 


MORNING  SHADOWS  177 

"  But  won't  you  be  so  good  as  to  reveal  to  us  this 
your  art  of  self-love,  telling  us  in  what  it  consists  ?  " 
asked  Dora  sarcastically. 

"  In  what  it'  consists  ?  In  loving  oneself  for  just 
what  one  is  ;  as  a  human  being  of  flesh,  and  blood, 
and  spirit.  One's  o^vn  existence,  one's  body,  one's 
pleasures,  one's  own  personality,  and  one's  own 
personal  conception  of  life,  not  some  falsely  coloured 
one ;   there  you  have  it,  in  a  nutshell  !  " 

Andreief  got  up  suddenly  and  seized  his  cap. 

"  Well,  good-bye.  It's  time  to  go  home.  It  is 
nearly  twelve  o'clock." 

"  No,  but  first  explain  .  .  ." 

"  I've  nothing  to  explain.  You  must  be  a  damned 
fool  if  you  don't  understand  that  yourself.  It  can 
never  be  drummed  into  you." 

The  students  had  gone,  and  in  the  room  there  was 
silence.     Yet  one  could  hear  voices  behind  the  wall. 

"  What  a  philosophy  !  "  scoffed  Dora.  "  It  means 
that  we  have  to  go  back  to  man's  primeval  state." 

Lisa  sighed,  and  again  she  was  tortured  by  thoughts 
of  Pasha  Afanasief. 


CHAPTER  VI 

Spring  had  come  and  Lisa  went  home  on  a  visit.  But 
Pasha  Afanasief  was  not  there.  As,  on  the  evening 
of  her  arrival  she  went  into  the  garden  and  stood  by 
the  fence,  silent  grief  overcame  her.  It  was  as  if  in 
this  place  she  could  hear  Pasha  speaking  in  his  old 
impulsive  way. 

Dora  was  absent,  too.  She  had  stayed  in  Peters- 
burg, where,  in  order  to  earn  some  money,  she  had 
accepted  a  situation  in  a  furniture  warehouse  for  the 
summer.  They  were  all  delighted  to  see  Lisa  when 
she  arrived,  especially  Ensign  Savinof.  Breathless 
and  with  shining  eyes,  he  hastened  to  her  house  that 
same  evening,  saying  nothing,  but  never  taking  his 
eyes  off  Lisa  for  a  moment.  She  was  pleased  to  see 
him,  but  as  usual,  her  manner  towards  him  was 
reserved  and  somewhat  grave. 

After  supper  they  all  went  out  walking.  Lisa, 
tired  as  she  was,  yet  felt  vaguely  happy. 

It  almost  depressed  her  to  walk  thi'ough  the  old 
familiar  streets  and  to  pass  the  houses,  churches,  and 
gardens  that  she  knew  so  well.  The  night  was 
moonless,  and  after  the  white  spring  nights  in  Peters- 
bm-g,  it  seemed  to  Lisa  dark  as  in  a  vault. 

She  walked  in  front  with  Savinof,  and  her  father 
and  mother  followed. 


MORNING  SHADOWS  179 

"  I'm  sure  you  will  catch  cold,  Pavel  Ivanovitch," 
said  Olga  Ivanovna. 

Lisa  listened  to  this  well-known  speech,  and  awaited 
the  equally  well-known  answer  to  it.  It  seemed  to 
add  to  her  pleasure. 

"  Why  should  I  catch  cold  ?  I  really  don't  know 
what  you  mean  !  "  said  Pavel  Ivanovitch  snappishly. 

The  air  was  heavy,  and  with  every  breath  the  joy 
of  living  seemed  sweeter  and  more  alluring. 

"  Oh,  how  beautiful,  how  wonderfully  beautiful  it 
all  is  !  "  exclaimed  Lisa. 

"  A  magical  night,"  echoed  Savinof  in  a  slightly 
nasal  voice.  To  Lisa  this  seemed  the  most  fitting 
description. 

With  the  morrow  began  a  series  of  peaceful  sunny 
days,  all  of  them  happy  and  tranquil.  It  was  only 
when  Lisa  thought  of  Petersburg  and  remembered 
that  the  summer  would  soon  vanish,  that  she  felt 
any  touch  of  sadness. 

One  sultry  evening  in  July  they  went  out  in  a  boat 
together,  he  rowing  while  she  steered.  Myriads  of 
stars  shone  above  them,  and  in  the  garden  the  glow- 
worms lit  their  tiny  lamps. 

"Oh,  Lisavieta  !  "  exclaimed  the  young  officer,  "  if 
you  only  knew  how  I  longed  for  you  while  you  were 
away.  Hundreds  of  times  I  said  to  myself  '  I'll 
shoot  myself,  and  there's  an  end  of  it.'  And  then  I 
thought,  '  Summer  is  coming,  and  Lisavieta  will 
return,  but  I  shan't  be  there  nor  see  her  any  more.' 
So  I  didn't  shoot  myself." 

"  So  you  didn't  shoot  yourself,"  repeated  Lisa, 
laughing  merrily. 

"  Oh,  what  a  magical  night  1  "  exclaimed  Savinof  in 


180     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  same  nasal  tone,  while  his  eyes  were  riveted  upon 
Lisa's  graceful  form.  They  moored  the  boat  by  an 
island  and  walked  towards  the  wood,  leaning  closely 
against  each  other.  Under  the  trees  it  was  quite 
dark,  and  there  was  a  delicious  odour  of  leaves  and 
dewy  grass.  When  they  reached  an  open  space 
between  the  trees,  they  stopped  and  gazed  upwards 
at  the  canopy  of  starlit  sky. 

A  strange,  burning  force  seemed  to  draw  them 
together.  Lisa's  hand  trembled  as  she  almost  nestled 
against  the  young  man's  shoulder.  His  muscular 
limbs  were  all  aglow,  and  at  one  moment  he  very 
nearly  seized  her  soft  quivering  form  and  crushed  it 
to  his  breast.  But  this  he  dared  not  do,  and  knelt  in 
the  grass  as  he  pressed  his  lips  to  her  hand. 

"  Let  us  go  !  "  exclaimed  Lisa  in  confusion.  "  Let 
us  go  !  "  she  repeated,  with  something  of  her  usual 
peremptoriness.  The  ensign  rose  and  submissively 
gave  her  his  hand  as  they  walked  on.  All  the  way 
home  they  were  silent,  feeling  afraid  to  look  at  each 
other.  On  reaching  home,  Lisa  carefully  surveyed 
herself  in  the  mirror,  and  then  lazily  undressed.  The 
ensign  buried  his  head  in  liis  pillow,  as  the  words, 
"  What  a  magical  night !  "  rang  through  his  brain. 


CHAPTER  VII 

About  three  days  after  this  Lisa  received  a  letter 
from  her  friend,  Dora. 

"  Dearest  Lisotchka,"  it  ran,  "  you  can't  imagine 
how  horribly  bored  I  am  !  This  wretched  office-work 
knocks  all  the  life  out  of  one.  There's  nobody  in 
town,  where  it  is  frightfully  hot  and  dull.  Larionof 
is  away,  so  I  am  now  quite,  quite  alone.  At  any  rate, 
he  used  to  come  and  see  me  sometimes,  and  that 
made  it  a  trifle  less  dull.  I  can  imagine  what  fun 
you're  having  !  Is  your  ensign  still  running  after 
you  ?  Of  course,  on  moonlight  nights  he  takes  you 
out  in  a  boat,  or  you  wander  through  the  dark  alleys 
of  your  own  romantic  garden.  I  can  imagine  how 
delightful  that  must  be  !  Only,  marriage  —  for 
heaven's  sake  keep  clear  of  that  !  However,  that's 
your  affair,  after  all ;  not  mine.  Don't  be  offended, 
but  you  have  quite  a  liking  for  provincial  joys.  That 
is  one  of  the  things  which  Pasha  Afanasief  noticed. 
Perhaps  that  sort  of  life  would  really  suit  you  best. 
You'll  marry  your  ensign,  have  a  dozen  children,  be 
ever  so  happy,  and  live  ever  so  long  !     Au  revoir  ! 

"  Your  affectionate 

"  Dora." 

**  P.S.     Lisotchka,  forgive  me  !     How  disagreeable  I 


182     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

am  !  I  have  just  read  over  the  letter,  and  I  see  what 
unkind  things  I  have  said.  Never  mind.  I  shall 
send  it,  just  the  same,  so  that  you  can  see  what  a 
horrid  person  I  am.  Everything  is  so  boring,  so 
nauseous  !  I  am  so  miserable  that  I  feel  sure  that 
you  won't  be  angry  with  your  poor  Dora." 

Lisa  carefully  read  this  letter  through  twice,  and 
looking  very  grave,  went  out  into  the  garden,  where 
the  sun  shone  and  sparrows  twittered. 

She  walked  slowly  down  the  path  until  she  came 
to  the  place  where  last  year  she  had  looked  over  the 
fence  into  the  Afanasief's  garden.  Here,  by  this 
fence,  now  grey  and  dilapidated,  she  stood  lost  in  her 
thoughts.  Shafts  of  sunlight  fell  across  her  path  and 
touched  her  grey  dress,  while  green  leaves  whispered 
overhead. 

Somewhere  in  space  she  seemed  to  hear  Pasha 
Afanasief's  words,  and  her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears 
so  that  the  fence  and  the  leaves  and  the  grass  and 
the  blue  heaven  became  blurred  and  indistinct. 

In  the  evening  Savinof  arrived  as  usual.  He  may 
have  had  some  inkling  of  her  mood,  for  his  hand- 
some, good-natured  face  had  a  shy  expression.  Lisa's 
manner  was  cool  and  constrained.  When  they  were 
alone  together,  he  said  : 

"  Lisavieta  Pavlovna,  what's  the  matter  with  you?  " 

Lisa  looked  at  him  coldly. 

"  The  matter  with  me  ?     Nothing,"  she  replied. 

He  looked  up  sadly  : 

"  But  I  can  see  that  you  .  .  ." 

Without  speaking,  Lisa  suddenly  produced  Dora's 
letter  and  handed  it  to  him. 


MORNING  SHADOWS  183 


"  ^Vhat  is  this  ?  "  he  asked  in  surprise.  She  made 
no  answer,  but  went  into  the  garden.  The  ensign 
did  not  move,  but  watched  her  depart,  and  then 
unfolding  the  letter,  he  read  it  through.  He  grew  so 
red  and  breathed  so  heavily  that  at  first  it  seemed  as 
if  he  were  going  to  tear  the  letter  to  shreds,  and  rush 
away  in  a  fury.  But  his  blind  adoration  for  Lisa  was 
such  that  he  kept  his  feelings  under  control.  He 
looked  about  him  in  amazement,  and  having  carefully 
folded  up  the  letter,  followed  Lisa,  who  was  standing 
at  the  gate  watching  a  herd  of  goats  that  were  passing 
along  the  road  in  a  cloud  of  dust. 

"  Lisavieta  Pavlovna  !  "  he  murmured. 

Lisa  turned  round,  and  her  eyes  met  his.  The 
ensign  looked  down  and  said  sadly  : 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  You  don't  understand  ?  "  she  repeated  as  her  face 
assumed  a  strangely  hard  expression.  *'  I  don't 
understand  either.  Leave  me,  pray  leave  me  !  "  she 
suddenly  exclaimed  hysterically,  and  then  rushed 
towards  the  house. 

All  night  long  Savinof  paced  up  and  down  his 
room  and  at  last,  going  to  his  overcoat  hanging  on  a 
peg,  was  about  to  draw  his  revolver  from  one  of  the 
pockets,  yet  instead  of  doing  so  he  bent  forward  and 
muttered  : 

"  Lisa,  Lisa,  Lisotchka  !  " 


CHAPTER  VIII 

In  the  middle  of  February  the  thaw  set  in.  There 
was  an  odour  of  melting  snow  and  the  dark,  humid  sky 
and  the  rattling  sound  of  wheels  on  the  pavement  were 
signs  that  spring  was  at  hand. 

Lisa  and  a  student  named  Korenief,  a  tall,  dark- 
haired  young  man  with  brilliant  eyes  and  a  hooked 
nose,  were  walking  along  towards  his  rooms.  He 
had  flung  his  student's  cloak  over  his  shoulder,  and 
his  cap  he  wore  at  the  back  of  his  head.  His  powerful 
voice  could  be  heard  above  the  rattling  of  wheels 
and  the  splashing  of  water  as  it  dripped  from  the  roofs 
of  houses. 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  Lisa,"  said  Korenief, 
and  his  eyes  sparkled.  "  If  you  love  me,  and  I  know 
that  you  do  love  me,  why  should  either  of  us  hide  it  ? 
What  sense  is  there  in  concealment  ?  One  must  get 
from  life  all  that  life  can  give.  I  don't  like  cowardice, 
half-measures,  indecision." 

Lisa  looked  down  and  felt  a  strange  tremor  in  her 
limbs.  Her  ear  which  Korenief  could  see,  a  pretty 
little  ear,  became  red  as  a  budding  rose. 

In  Korenief's  room  she  did  not  remove  her  wraps 
until  the  landlady  had  brought  in  the  samovar,  when 
the  latter  scrutinized  her  closely.     As  she  stood  at  the 


MORNING  SHADOWS  185 

table  she  seemed  to  have  brought  a  sense  of  freshness 
and  pleasant  coolness  into  the  room. 

Korenief  was  evidently  excited ;  his  eyes  were 
aflame.  He  was  strikingly  handsome,  and  all  his 
moventents  were  imperious  and  bold. 

"  Do  take  your  things  off,  Lisa,"  he  said  as  he  shut 
the  door  and  then  approached  her.  Lisa  glanced 
quickly  at  him  and  the  unconscious,  half-childish  fear 
of  him  that  she  had  felt  ever  since  she  had  known  him, 
was  evident  in  her  pale  face  which  wore  its  usual  grave 
expression. 

"  Come,  take  your  things  off,"  he  repeated,  as 
with  trembling  fingers  he  began  to  unbutton  her 
jacket. 

"  I  can  do  it  myself,"  she  murmured. 

She  took  off  her  hat  and  sat  down  at  the  table. 

"  Now  then,  what  do  you  mean  ?  Off  with  those 
things  !  "  he  persisted. 

She  stood  up  obediently  and  fumbled  at  the  buttons 
of  her  jacket.     Korenief  helped  her. 

Suddenly  he  embraced  her,  flung  her  jacket  on  to 
the  floor  and  lifted  her  off  her  feet.  Then,  turning 
round,  so  that  her  plaited  hair  lightly  touched  his 
cheek,  he  carried  her  to  his  bed. 

Lisa  felt  dizzy  with  fear  and  despair,  as  if  in  dream 
she  were  falling  over  a  precipice.  She  made  a  faint 
effort  to  free  herself,  as  she  tossed  about  on  the  bolster. 
Then,  suddenly,  she  became  quite  still  and  shut  her 
eyes.  Everything  in  the  room  seemed  to  be  whirling 
round  in  one  wild,  burning  spasm  of  pleasure  and 
pain. 

Gently,  without  looking  at  Korenief,  she  got  up,  a 
pitiful  yet  charming  figure,  with  her  grey,  crumpled 


186     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

dress  and  tousled  hair.  Korenief  was  panting ;  his 
eyes  ghttered,  and  his  nostrils  were  quivering.  A 
strange  warm  odour  seemed  to  envelop  them ;  a 
kind  of  voluptuous  haze  floated  through  the  room. 

It  was  late  when  Lisa  left.  The  passage  was  dark, 
and  she  tried  to  creep  out  noiselessly  to  avoid  being 
seen.  But  a  streak  of  light  fell  from  the  landlady's 
room,  and  this  haggard  female  appeared  in  the  door- 
way. 

"  Please  shut  the  front  door,"  she  said,  in  a  harsh, 
grating  voice  which,  to  Lisa's  ear,  conveyed  insolence 
and  contempt. 

She  stood  still  on  the  stairs,  leaning  on  the  banisters 
for  support.  As  the  door  closed  behind  her  she  felt 
that  she  was  utterly  alone  in  the  world,  miserable  and 
covered  with  shame. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Almost  every  day  Larionof  and  Andreief  came 
to  see  Dora  and  Lisa,  who  now  shared  one  room. 
Whole  evenings  were  spent  in  discussing  the  one  and 
only  subject. 

"  I  see  what  it  is  now,"  exclaimed  Larionof,  gesticu- 
lating wildly,  "  this  is  a  time  of  fighting  for  fighting's 
sake  !  That's  all  it  is  !  Formerly,  one  looked  upon 
it  as  a  duty,  or  as  a  grievous  necessity,  do  you  see  ? 
But  now  one  gets  enjoyment  from  the  actual  fighting 
itself ;  a  purely  animal,  selfish  enjoyment.  That  is 
what  it  amounts  to  !  " 

"  Exactly  !  "  assented  Andreief. 

"  Yes,  that's  it.  Only  in  this  way  it's  easy  to  see 
that  everyone  will  become  a  beast  !  " 

"  No,  my  friend,  that's  not  quite  correct,"  laughed 
Andreief,  "  for  what  you  called  a  beast  and  what  I 
called  a  beast  might  not  be  the  same  animal." 

Seated  on  a  corner  of  the  bed,  Lisa  listened  to  theiy 
talk,  and  thought  of  Korenief,  who  had  occasionally 
visited  her  while  Dora  was  away.  She  was  more 
afraid  of  him  now  than  ever.  That  which  he  did 
with  her  caused  her  shame  and  disgust,  yet  she  dared 
not  resist,  but  felt  that  she  must  meekly  submit. 

As  she  now  listened  to  Andreief,  she  pictured 
Korenief  to  herself  as  one  of  those  very  beasts  to 


188     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

which  he  alluded,  and  she  shuddered  to  think  that 
anyone  might  get  to  know  of  her  disgrace. 

Dora  was  also  silent  and  self-absorbed.  She 
hardly  paid  any  heed  to  these  discussions.  All  her 
thoughts  were  set  on  what  she  was  writing  at  night- 
time— literary  work  that  she  had  kept  a  secret  even 
from  Lisa.  At  last  it  seemed  to  her  that  she  had 
found  that  of  which  she  stood  in  need.  There  were 
nights  when  she  got  up  from  the  table,  quivering  with 
excitement,  and  when,  so  as  not  to  wake  Lisa,  she 
would  softly  pace  the  room,  feeling  that  she  was  now 
about  to  achieve  fame. 

But  on  a  certain  cold,  grey  day,  in  a  cold,  bare  room 
at  a  publisher's,  a  manuscript  was  handed  back  to  her 
with  chilling  indifference.  She  went  homewards,  and 
as  she  crossed  a  large  bridge  she  looked  down  at  the 
water  with  dull,  mournful  eyes.  All  at  once  her  whole 
being  seemed  to  have  become  cold  and  empty,  and  she 
ceased  to  have  any  desire  to  live. 

Just  then  two  of  her  fellow-students  approached. 
One  was  tall  and  handsome,  and  the  other  small  and 
roguish  as  a  kitten.  They  stopped,  and  as  they 
laughingly  looked  about  them,  they  chatted  about  a 
recent  students'  meeting. 

"  Ah  !     If  you  had  heard  how  Totchnikof  spoke  !  " 

They  gave  some  disjointed  account  of  his  speech 
and  then  raved  about  his  personal  appearance. 

"  I  can't  abide  fair  men,"  said  the  httle  student,  "  but 
about  him  there  is  something  quite  extraordinary." 

At  this  her  tall  companion  laughed  as  she  threw 
back  her  head.  To  Dora  they  were  tedious  and 
uninteresting,  so  she  left  them  and  went  on,  thinking 
to  herself,  "  How  little  they  want  from  life !    How 


MORNING  SHADOWS  189 

dull  they  are,  how  commonplace  !  Gracious  me ! 
why  death  is  preferable  to  that  !  Not  that  I  have  any 
talent.  In  fact  I  have  nothing.  At  meetings  I 
never  open  my  mauth  and  study  bores  me  ;  I  am  an 
everyday  sort  of  person,  an  absolute  cipher.  But 
no,  this'  cannot  be.     It  would  be  better  not  to  live." 

On  reaching  home  her  mood  became  one  of  hopeless 
depression,  nor  could  Lisa  succeed  in  making  her  utter 
a  word. 

"  Dorotchka,  dear,  what  is  the  matter  ?  "  she  asked. 
"  Nothing  is  wrong  I  hope." 

For  some  reason  or  other  Dora  was  hurt  by  this 
remark.  Not  long  after,  Dora  came  one  night  to 
Lisa's  bed,  barefoot,  and  sat  down  at  the  edge  of  her 
bed. 

"  Lisa,"  she  murmured  excitedly,  "  I  tell  you  I 
can't  go  on  like  this  !  One  hope  I  had  of  getting 
above  the  crowd.  I  don't  know  what  I'm  going  to 
do  now,  nor  what  I  really  want.  There's  no  prospect 
before  me  of  anything.  Everything  is  dull  and  grey. 
Oh  !  what  a  life  this  is  !  If  you  only  knew  what  I 
went  through  this  summer  in  that  horrible  counting- 
house,  where  everybody  looked  upon  me  as  nobody. 
All  the  clerks  despised  me." 

"  Oh,  Dorotchka,  Dorotchka,  that's  all  over  now." 

"  What's  all  over  ?  "  cried  Dora,  "  I'm  not  a  child 
to  be  driven  to  despair  by  a  chance  failure  !  No, 
I  feel  there's  something  lacking  in  my  composition. 
There's  something  that  gives  other  people  the  capacity 
to  live.  Perhaps  I  am  not  quite  such  a  fool  as  to  be 
consoled  by  some  toy  or  other.  I  could  live  if  I  were 
at  the  top,  right  above  everybody  else  ;  if  I  could  feel 
that  I  was  great.     But  just  to  study  with  thousands 


190     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

of  others  and  then  go  to  some  out-of-the-way,  God- 
forsaken hole  and  look  after  a  lot  of  idiots  for  the 
rest  of  my  life,  dying  as  I  had  lived,  unknown  and 
ignored — don't  you  see  how  ghastly  it  all  is  ?  Think 
of  it !  That  represents  my  whole  life.  I'd  rather 
die  !  " 

So  saying,  she  stretched  out  her  white  arms  in  a 
passionate  gesture.  This  last  idea,  so  she  thought, 
would  place  her  in  a  new  and  imposing  light  as  far  as 
Lisa  was  concerned. 

Just  at  this  moment  she  believed  that  there  was 
nothing  more  beautiful  and  important  than  suicide. 

"  I'd  rather  die  !  "  she  repeated,  as  she  knitted  her 
brows  and  listened  attentively  to  the  sound  of  her  own 
voice. 

"  I  have  thought  so,  too,"  she  said. 

Then  Dora  got  up  and  said,  "  Come,  let's  go  out." 

Lisa  nodded  again  and  threw  back  the  counterpane. 
Now  for  the  first  time  Dora  noticed  the  graceful 
outline  of  her  neck  and  shoulders,  and  her  delicately 
modelled  limbs. 

They  walked  for  a  long  way  through  the  vacant 
streets  of  the  city,  past  silent  houses  with  black,  blind 
windows.  Dark  figures  came  towards  them,  and 
vanished  like  shadows.  Dora  talked  in  an  under- 
tone about  the  futility  of  life,  and  of  her  resolve  to  die. 
When  they  reached  the  quay,  the  sky  behind  the  grey- 
blue  outline  of  the  fortress,  changed  to  a  delicate 
rose,  and  this  hue  was  reflected  in  the  water.  The 
dawn  had  come.  They  sat  on  a  chilly  stone  bench 
and  for  a  long  while  gazed  silently  at  the  river  still 
shrouded  in  morning  haze. 


CHAPTER  X 

From  this  day  forward  the  life  wJiich  the  two  girls  led 
together  became  changed  and  uneasy.  No  sooner 
were  they  alone  than  Dora  began  her  talk  of  suicide, 
yet  from  the  mere  thought  of  really  taking  her  own 
life  she  shrank  in  horror,  fascinating  as  it  was. 
Lisa  gazed  at  her,  spell-bound,  while  Dora  took  a 
positive  delight  in  tormenting  her  with  all  such 
schemes  for  self-destruction.  On  one  occasion  when 
talk  of  this  kind  had  become  absolutely  insufferable, 
Dora  went  so  far  as  to  fix  the  day  of  her  death.  It 
was  on  this  day  that  Lisa  went  to  Korenief. 

"  You  must  wait  till  I  come  back,"  she  said  earnestly 
to  Dora.     "  I  have  to  go  out." 

Dora  shot  a  jealous  glance  at  her  face  wliich  had 
grown  suddenly  red,  but  she  said  nothing.  She 
had  an  impression  that  Lisa  was  afraid  and  was 
going  to  avoid  her. 

Korenief  was  at  home,  and  wlien  he  saw  Lisa,  he 
joyfully  sprang  forward  to  meet  lier. 

"  Oh,  Lisa,"  he  exclaimed,  "  I  certainly  never 
expected  this  !  " 

Lisa  entered  without  speaking,  and  sat  down 
at  the  table  without  removing  her  jacket.  Korenief 
endeavoured  to  make  her  do  this,  and  as  the  tight 
jacket   was   drawn   from   her   pretty   shoulders,    his 


192     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

shining  eyes  and  dilated  nostrils  showed  that  he 
was  sensibly  affected.  Lisa  was  about  to  go  back 
to  the  table,  but  Korenief  caught  her  up  in  his  arms, 
sat  down  on  the  bed  and  placed  her  on  his  knees. 
Lisa  sat  there  in  a  half-unconscious  state,  as  if  she 
were  going  to  faint,  making  no  resistance. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  "  asked  Korenief.  "  Whom 
have  we  the  honour  of  thanking  for  this  ?  " 

"  I  shall  soon  die,"  said  Lisa  suddenly,  and  for  a 
moment  there  was  a  pleading  look  in  her  usually 
placid  eyes. 

"  Oho  !  I  like  that !  "  laughed  Korenief.  "  Yes, 
yes,  I  like  that !  "  he  repeated  as  he  crushed  her  soft 
form,  trembling  with  excitement.  Lisa  opened  her 
mournful  eyes,  and  gazed  at  him  without  uttering  a 
word.  Suddenly  he  flung  her  down  on  the  bed  and 
kissed  her  neck  and  the  rough  grey  dress  which  covered 
her  bosom.  Lisa  made  no  resistance,  but  surrendered 
as  meekly  as  before.  Then  she  got  up  and  looked 
earnestly  into  his  eyes  as  if  she  hoped  to  find  something 

there. 

"  Now  then,  suppose  we  have  some  tea,"  said 
Korenief  somewhat  flushed  and  elated. 

"  I  must  go  back,"  said  Lisa  in  a  low  voice. 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  ...  I  must,"  she  repUed  sadly,  as  she 
shyly  took  hold  of  his  hand. 

Korenief  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  You're  a  funny  girl !     Well,  as   you   like  !  "  he 

said. 

Lisa  let  go  his  hand  and  looked  down  at  the  floor. 
Then  she  put  on  her  things. 

"  Thank  you  for  coming  to  see  me,"  said  Korenief 


MORNING  SHADOWS  193 

finding  nothing  else  to  say.  Lisa  sighed  and  closed 
the  door.  Korenief  heard  how  the  landlady  mut- 
tered in  the  passage  : 

"  She's  no  goo'd  !    And  calls  herself  a  lady-student, 
if  you.  please  !  " 


i 


N 


CHAPTER  XI 

It  was  already  dusk  as  Lisa  walked  through  the 
streets,  and  the  lamps  had  been  lighted.  She  walked 
quickly,  bending  forward  somewhat  and  looking 
down  at  the  wet  pavement.  Some  one  overtook  her ; 
and  a  little  white  puppy  ran  almost  under  her  feet, 
which  caused  her  to  start  aside. 

In  front  of  her  walked  a  grammar-school  boy  in  a 
grey  cloak  and  a  large  cap.  He  was  followed  by  a 
merry,  little  white  puppy  which  came  blundering 
along  in  an  irresponsible  manner,  tumbling  con- 
tinually against  its  master's  feet,  much  to  its  own 
surprise. 

Lisa  felt  a  strange  warmth  at  her  heart,  and  her 
eyes  filled  with  tears.  Memories  came  back  to  her 
all  in  a  moment,  of  Seriosha  and  the  little  dog  at  home, 
so  that  her  sense  of  solitude  was  gradually  dispelled 
by  one  of  tenderness  and  joy.  She  turned  aside,  and, 
without  knowing  why,  walked  behind  the  school- 
boy and  his  little  white  puppy.  For  a  long  time  they 
walked  in  this  way,  and  she  quite  forgot  that  she  had 
to  go  home,  as  with  her  muff  tightly  pressed  against 
her  bosom,  she  never  took  her  eyes  off  the  little 
grey  cloak  and  the  large  cap  that  surmounted  two 
red,  projecting  ears.    Sometimes  the  schoolboy  looked 


MORNING  SHADOWS  195 

round  as  if  unable  to  understand  why  this  tall  young 
woman  should  persistently  follow  him.  She  gave  him 
a  shy  smile,  and  then,  turning  round,  in  order  to 
assert  his  authority,  he  called  out : 

".Farsik,  come  here!  You're  not  to  run  about 
like  that.     Look  where  you're  going  !  " 

Farsik  pricked  up  his  ears  in  great  concern  and 
wagged  his  tail  violently.     Lisa  laughed  gently. 

"  Back  to  my  home  !  "  sang  a  voice  of  gladness 
within  her. 

Suddenly  the  schoolboy  went  in  at  a  gate,  glancing 
round  once  more  at  Lisa.  When  he  saw  that  she 
had  stopped,  he  called  out,  sharply  : 

"  Farsik,  come  here  !  " 

The  white  puppy  sprang  forward  to  join  his 
master,  and  the  grey  iron  gate  was  firmly  closed 
behind  them. 

All  at  once  Lisa  was  left  alone.  The  genial  sense 
of  happiness  vanished  as  quickly  as  it  came.  The 
street  was  muddy  and  the  lamps  burned  yellow. 
People  passed  along,  reflected  in  the  wet  pavement ; 
in  the  dusk  their  faces  seemed  to  be  missing.  Lisa 
stood  still  for  a  while  before  she  turned  back,  her 
ankles  almost  giving  way  from  fatigue.  Seriosha,  her 
home,  her  father,  all  rose  up  before  her  and  then 
faded  away.  Only  the  hopeless  consciousness  re- 
mained that  she  could  never  return  to  her  home,  and 
that  the  Lisa  who  had  lived  a  peaceful  happy  life  in 
that  old  house  with  Seriosha  and  the  little  dog,  had 
ceased  to  exist  and  would  never  exist  again.  The 
sensation  as  if  suddenly  she  were  sinking  in  tm-bid, 
greenish  water  which  roared  in  her  ears,  made  all 
seem  dark  before  her  eyes. 


196     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

With  both  hands  she  pressed  her  muff  to  her 
forcljcud  and  stood  still. 

"  The  end  1  "  said  a  voice,  cold  and  decisive,  within 
her  soul.  Her  whole  being  had  become  void  and 
dead. 


CHAPTER  Xn 

When  Lisa  got  home,  Dora  was  lying  on  the  bed  with 
her  face  buried  in  the  pillows. 

*'  All,  it's  you  !  "  she  said  feebly,  as  she  opened  the 
door.     "  How  you  frightened  me  !  '' 

Lisa  mechanically  took  off  her  things  and  lighted 
tlie  lamp.  On  the  table  she  noticed  a  sheet  of  paper 
on  which  Dora  had  wi-itten  something,  and  also  a 
black,  hateful-looking  revolver.  Approaching  the 
table,  Dora  said  : 

"  Look  what  I've  written  !  " 

Leaning  one  elbow  on  the  table,  Lisa  read  as 
follows  : 

"  We  do  not  wish  to  accuse  anyone  of  our  deaths. 
We  die  because  life  is  not  worth  hving." 

'"  I  think  that's  sufficient,  isn't  it  ?  "  said  Dora  in 
a  tone  that  had  something  of  an  author's  vanity 
about  it.  though  personally  slie  thought  that  the 
effect  produced  by  her  piece  of  paper  would  be  simply 
foolish.  Lisa  said  nothing,  but  remained  in  the  same 
uncomfortable  position,  propped  on  one  elbow,  her 
plait  hanging  over  her  shoulder,  and  falling  in  a  coil 
on  the  table.  She  had  a  sudden  wish  to  seize  the 
pen  and  ^\Tite  something  else,  something  that  filled 
her  breast  and  clutched  at  her  heart.  Sl\e  only  got 
up  slowly  and  sighed.  Then  she  handled  the  revolver 
for  a  moment  and  laid  it  down  aorain. 


198     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  Yes,  that  will  do  quite  well,  I  think.  It's  all  the 
same  to  me,"  she  said  faintly. 

Silence  ensued,  which  for  Dora  was  most  painful. 

"  How  stupid  it  all  seems  !  "  she  thought. 

After  a  while  she  said  : 

"  We  shall  have  to  lock  the  door." 

Lisa  gently  walked  to  the  door  and  locked  it. 
Again  there  was  an  oppressive  silence,  as  Lisa  stood 
near  the  door  and  Dora  by  the  table.  Something 
intolerably  dreadful  and  senseless  seemed  to  pervade 
the  whole  room.  To  Dora  it  seemed  that  the  lamp 
was  going  out. 

"  Where  are  you  ?  "  she  gasped,  as  if  a  bullet  had 
lodged  itself  in  her  throat.  Lisa  opened  her  melan- 
choly eyes,  but  did  not  answer. 

"  Come  now,  we  have  got  to  put  an  end  to  it  all," 
murmured  Dora  hoarsely,  as  her  tongue  clove  to  the 
roof  of  her  mouth. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Lisa  in  a  faint  voice. 

Dora  put  out  her  hand  in  hesitating  fashion  and 
took  hold  of  the  revolver,  trembling  in  every  limb. 

All  sounds  seemed  deadened  and  remote,  and  a  veil 
of  mist  had  shrouded  everything  about  her. 

Just  as  she  had  placed  the  barrel  of  the  revolver 
to  her  temple,  chilled  by  the  touch  of  the  cold  metal, 
she  thought  to  herself,  as  a  spasm  crossed  her  features  : 

"  Suppose  she  doesn't  shoot  herself,  and  makes  a 
fool  of  me  ?  " 

A  mad  feeling  of  jealousy  possessed  her. 

"  Ah  well  !   it  doesn't  matter." 

Her  fingers  were  closing  convulsively  on  the  trigger, 
when,  as  if  through  a  wall,  she  heard  Lisa's  voice. 
Instantly    she    lowered   the    revolver.     She    felt    an 


MORNING  SHADOWS  199 

unutterably  blissful  sense  of  relief,  and  such  intense 
weakness  that  she  almost  sank  into  a  chair. 

"  I'll  do  it  first,"  said  Lisa  in  a  voice  full  of  pity 
and  tenderness. 

Dora  was  silent,  and  stared  at  her  with  wild  eyes. 
Her  teeth  chattered. 

"  But  you  must  do  it  afterwards,"  added  Lisa 
firmly. 

Approaching  the  table,  she  took  the  revolver  from 
Dora's  limp  fingers  and  placed  it  calmly  and  carefully 
against  her  left  breast,  pressing  her  soft  body  slightly 
towards  it.  Dora  could  see,  in  the  shadow,  her  large 
earnest  eyes,  and  the  whole  thing  appeared  to  her 
nothing  more  than  a  bad  joke.  But  in  the  next 
moment  Lisa's  face  assumed  an  expression  of  intense 
horror  and  despair.  There  was  a  deafening  report, 
and  a  sharp  sound  of  broken  glass.  Lisa  staggered, 
and,  though  she  clutched  at  the  table  with  one  hand, 
she  fell  on  the  floor  at  full  length,  her  eyes  starting 
from  her  head.  A  glass  containing  cold  tea  had  been 
upset,  and  a  chair  was  overturned.  Dora  uttered  a 
piercing  cry  as  she  clasped  her  head  with  both  hands  : 

"  Oh— Lisa  !  " 

Her  brain  felt  as  if  it  would  burst,  and,  as  all 
seemed  whirling  before  her  eyes,  she  rushed  to  the 
door  and  scrabbled  hysterically  at  it,  shrieking  for 
help.  Violent  blows  from  without  made  the  door 
creak  and  gradually  give  way.  In  the  passage  the 
sound  of  many  excited  voices  could  be  heard. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

Although  it  was  fairly  light  out  of  doors,  the  street 
lamps  were  burning,  and  their  golden  flames  looked 
strangely  beautiful  in  the  blue  summer  dusk. 

Throughout  the  empty  house,  intense  silence 
reigned.  Only  in  the  dining-room,  the  lamp  was 
burning  above  the  white  table,  and  the  clock  was 
ticking  as  if  for  its  own  amusement,  and  not  for 
anyone's  benefit.  All  the  blinds  were  drawn  to  shut 
out,  as  it  were,  the  coming  gloom. 

Wrapped  in  a  warm  shawl,  Dora  was  lying  in  her 
little  bedroom,  thinking  deeply.  A  year  had  passed 
since  Lisa's  death,  and  twice  the  grass  had  grown 
above  her  grave.  For  Dora,  this  year  had  seemed 
like  a  long  black  streak.  Sorrow,  sickness,  and  shame 
had  harassed  her.  Her  features  were  pinched  and 
Shin,  her  eyes  had  a  morbid  gleam  in  them ;  while 
her  body  had  become  shrunken,  her  head  appeared 
onnaturally  big.  In  her  soul  there  was  the  same  old 
unrest.  The  consciousness  of  her  own  insignificance 
had  irresistibly  urged  her  to  try  and  accomplish 
something  heroic  and  splendid. 

And  so  in  this  last  year  everywhere  in  Russia  she 
had  been  exposed  to  continual  peril  ;  and  now  at 
last  she  found  herself  in  a  weird,  lonely  house, 
where  an  anarchist  plot  of  vast  dimensions  had  been 


MORNING  SHADOWS  201 

hatched  and  matured.  Thoughts  of  what  would 
happen  on  the  morrow  horrified  her ;  yet  she  knew 
that  she  would  carry  out  the  plan.  The  fact  that  a 
responsible  and  dangerous  share  in  this  plot  had  been 
assigned  to  her,  filled  her  with  secret  enthusiasm. 
The  huge  deed  itself  and  the  political  importancaof  such 
a  conspiracy,  made  no  appeal  to  her  whatever.  All  that 
she  saw  before  her  eyes  was  her  own  self,  though  her 
heart  nearly  stopped  beating ;  her  own  superb  features 
ringed  with  a  halo  of  gore.  Thus  she  lay  on  her  bed, 
meditating,  and  in  the  darkness  her  eyes  gleamed. 

The  sound  of  something  falling  in  the  adjoining 
house  reminded  her  of  the  sad  circumstances  sur- 
rounding Lisa's  death,  and  she  thought  again  of  her 
own  cowardice  in  not  being  able  to  die  in  the  same 
swift,  beautiful  way  as  Lisa  died. 

Suddenly  the  front-door  bell  rang.  At  first  gently, 
and  then  loudly.  Dora  rose  hurriedly  and  opened 
the  door.  She  was  confronted  by  Andreief,  wearing 
a  cloak  and  a  slouched  cap. 

"  Oh,  it's  you  !  "  whispered  Dora  in  a  low  voice, 
"  where  are  the  others  ?  " 

Andreief  cautiously  shut  the  door  and  took  off  his 
cloak  and  cap  before  he  answered  : 

"  They  will  be  here  about  nine  o'clock.  You  will 
have  to  give  Nesnamof  something  to  eat.  He  will 
stay  the  night  here." 

"  I've  got  everything  ready,"  replied  Dora. 

They  went  into  the  dining-room  and  Dora  sat  on 
the  sofa,  holding  the  shawl  tightly  round  her  as  if 
she  were  shivering  with  cold.  Andreief  brought  in  a 
parcel  from  the  passage,  and  opening  a  bureau 
placed  it  carefully  in  one  of  the  drawers. 


202     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

*'  Be  very  careful  of  this,"  he  said  gravely. 

They  were  silent.  Andreief  walked  up  and  down 
the  room,  and  Dora  followed  him  with  her  eyes.  She 
felt  as  if  a  heavy  weight  hung  above  the  house  that 
seemed  to  crush  her  heart  and  her  brain. 

"  Everything  is  ready,  then,  is  it  ?  "  she  asked,  just 
for  something  to  say. 

Probably  Andreief  guessed  this,  for  he  did  not 
reply. 

"  Who  is  Nesnamof  ?  "  was  Dora's  next  question. 

Andreief  stepped  in  front  of  her,  and  ceased  twirling 
his  moustache  as  he  smiled. 

"  That's  what  I  can't  tell  you.  Yet  it  doesn't 
matter.  He  is  a  first-rate  fellow,  one  of  the  real  sort ; 
that's  the  main  thing.  Well,  I  can  tell  you  this 
much  ;   he  is  a  student." 

After  a  pause,  he  continued,  "  I  don't  know  how 
it's  all  going  to  end,  but  if  they  come  to  grief  it  will 
be  a  very  bad  job.  We  shan't  be  able  to  get  such 
men  again  in  a  hurry.  In  any  other  country  they 
might  have  done  something  big,  whereas  here  they 
may  be  sacrificed  as  if  they  were  nothing." 

"  How  do  you  know,  '  As  if  they  were  nothing  '  ?  " 

"  Why,  do  you  think  I  would  exchange  you  for 
some  old  official  monkey  ?  " 

Dora  laughed. 

"  You  talk  as  if  you  were  taking  no  risk  yourself," 
she  said,  unconsciously  flattering  him  somewhat. 
Andreief  waved  his  hand  deprecatingly. 

"  No  ;  what  am  I  doing  ?  My  part  only  means 
penal  servitude,  whereas  yours  means  the  gallows, 
straight  away.  It's  an  awful  pity.  I  know  the 
other  two  so  well  and  I  am  so  fond  of  them  both. 


MORNING  SHADOWS  203 

But  if  I  were  in  their  place,  I  think  I  should  feel 
happier." 

"  Then  why  didn't  you  undertake  it  yourself  ?  " 
"  We  can't  all  do  that  at  the  same  time,"  laughed 
Andreief,  "  I  dare  say  that  my  turn  will  come." 
"  Then  you  know  Nesnamof,  do  you  ?  " 
"  Yes,  I  have  known  him  for  a  long  while.  ...  A 
powerful,  complex  personality.  .  .  .  Korenief,  too,  he 
is  a  bom  fighter.  He  only  went  into  this  thing  with 
us  because  nowadays  there's  no  loftier  or  more 
desperate  cause  than  that  of  the  revolutionist's. 
Alone,  in  the  fight  for  freedom,  when  all  human 
strength  is  strained  to  the  uttermost,  either  to  break 
the  fetters  or  to  perish  in  the  attempt — only  then  is 
it  possible  to  play  for  a  high  stake.  Korenief  is 
essentially  brutal ;  but  Nesnamof  is  only  embittered  ; 
he  is  really  wonderfully  kind  and  good-hearted.  All 
true  anarchists  must  of  necessity  be  kind  and  good- 
hearted.  The  huge  mass  of  evil,  brutality,  and 
injustice  that  for  most  of  us  is  merely  a  melancholy 
fact,  is  for  them  an  insufferable  horror.  Nesnamof's 
soul  is  pure  and  holy.  It's  sad  to  think  that  he  must 
perish." 

Andreief  made  another  gesture  of  despair,  and 
continued  to  pace  the  room.  The  monotonous  ticking 
of  the  clock  was  again  audible.  Dora  sat  there, 
leaning  forward,  and  vaguely  conscious  that  she,  too, 
had  a  temperament  that  was  individual  and  rare, 
which  pleased  her  vastly. 

"  Now,  this  is  our  plan,  Dora  Moiseivna,"  said 
Andreief,  "  don't  forget.  You  have  got  to  stand  at 
the  comer,  so  that  we  can  see  you  from  the  railway 
station  as  well  as  from  the  street.     When  the  train 


204     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

arrives,  and  the  prince  alights,  the  old  nurse  will 
come  forward  on  the  steps  of  the  railway  station  and 
make  a  sign  with  her  hand  to  the  droshky  driver.  At 
this  moment  you  must  fan  yourself  with  your  pocket- 
handkerchief,  as  though  you  were  hot ;  and  this 
signal  will  be  passed  on  to  the  cafe.  Directly  the 
prince  gets  into  his  carriage,  you  must  repeat  the 
signal.  After  the  second  signal,  Nesnamof  and 
Korenief  will  come  towards  you.     That's  all." 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know.  Do  you  think  that  one  could 
forget  ?  "  cried  Dora. 

"  I  don't  think  anything,"  replied  Andreief  calmly. 
"  But  it's  my  duty  to  see  to  every  detail.  The  main 
thing  is  to  keep  cool." 

Dora  nodded.  She  would  certainly  not  show  any 
agitation,  she  thought. 

Silence  ensued ;   and  then  the  bell  rang  again. 

"  Ah  !  here  they  are  !  "  said  Andreief  as  he  went 
to  open  the  door.  The  latch  clicked,  and  two  other 
men  entered.  Raising  her  head,  Dora  gazed  at  them 
with  shining  eyes.  Korenief  came  in,  looking  tall 
and  handsome,  and  alert  as  ever.  Nesnamof  was 
about  the  same  height  as  he,  but  more  lithe  and 
graceful.  He  was  fair,  with  large  eyes,  and  reminded 
Dora  painfully  of  Pasha  Afanasief. 

They  both  shook  hands  with  her. 

"  You  will  give  us  some  tea,  won't  you,  little 
comrade  ?  "  said  Korenief  playfully. 

The  whole  place  seemed  permeated  with  his  virile 
personality.  To  Dora  there  was  something  cool  and 
refreshing  about  him  ;   an  aroma  as  that  of  ice. 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  replied  Dora,  trying  to  match  his 
jovial  manner.     She  went  into  the  kitchen,  where  she 


MORNING  SHADOWS  205 

was  a  long  time  getting  the  samovar  to  boil,  for  she 
clumsily  let  the  lid  fall,  or  spilt  the  charcoal.  In  the 
dining-room  she  could  hear  Korenief's  talk  and 
laughter,  as  he  "Was  excitedly  discussing  ways  and 
means  .to  trick  the  detectives. 

When  she  came  back,  he  was  seated  astride  a 
chair,  and  saying  : 

"  What  I  like  is  our  old  midwife.  She  is  a  marvel  ! 
If  the  world  were  to  come  to  an  end,  she  would  be 
just  as  cool  and  collected  as  at  a  birth.  Do  you 
know  that,  these  last  two  days,  I  feel  more  alive  than 
ever.  It's  only  a  pity  that  soon  everything  must 
end." 

"  Wait  and  see  what  happens  !  "  was  Andreief's 
gloomy  rejoinder. 

"  No,  my  brother  !  "  laughed  Korenief,  showing  his 
white  teeth,  "  he  and  I  have  only  got  one  day  more, 
and  then — Phew — "  and  he  whistled. 

Nesnamof  drummed  with  his  slender  fingers  on  the 
table  as  if  in  time  to  a  tune  that  he  only  could  hear. 
Korenief's  jovial  voice  and  that  expressive  whistle  of 
his  sent  a  shiver  through  Dora's  frame.  Her  knees 
shook,  and,  seized  with  a  sudden  faintness,  she  sat 
down  on  the  edge  of  the  sofa.  Korenief's  words 
sounded  faint,  as  if  he  were  speaking  in  a  mist. 

*'  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  there  are  so  few  people 
to  do  the  work.  They  all  undertake  the  job,  but 
when  it  comes  to  the  scratch — well,  it  all  ends  in 
smoke." 

Dora  recovered  herself.  She  had  always  had  the 
impression  that  this  big,  handsome  student  secretly 
despised  her,  and  when  he  was  present  she  was 
specially  careful  to  appear  self-possessed.     She  smiled. 


206     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

and  with  a  swift  shy  glance  at  Nesnamof,  she 
rose. 

"  Will  you  have  lemon  with  your  tea  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Er  .  .  .  what  ?  Yes,  please,"  replied  Nesnamof 
mechanically. 

No  one  took  the  tea  except  Korenief,  and  they  all 
remained  silent.  It  was  this  very  silence  which  made 
each  one  feel  that  the  fateful  day  was  now  at  hand. 

"  Well,  we  must  be  going,"  said  Korenief  as  he  got 
up.     "  Till  to-morrow  !  " 

They  all  rose. 

"  Dora  Moisievna  will  show  you  where  everything 
is,"  said  Andreief  in  an  impressive  tone  to  Nesnamof. 

"  All  right.     Good-bye  !  "  replied  the  latter. 

For  a  moment  they  paused,  seemingly  confused, 
and  not  knowing  what  else  they  had  to  do. 

"  Yes,"  murmured  Andreief,  "  perhaps  we  shall 
never  see  each  other  again. 

"  Good-bye,  my  dear  fellow ! "  said  Nesnamof 
affectionately. 

At  the  sound  of  his  sad  voice  and  the  sight  of 
Andreief's  tearful  eyes,  Dora  felt  intense  pity  for 
them  all,  and  for  herself.  She  could  not  repress  her 
tears.  They  touched  her  trembling  lips.  Korenief 
grasped  Nesnamof  s  hand  and  smiled,  saying  nothing. 
To  this,  Nesnamof  replied  by  a  smile  no  less  mournful. 

Then  Korenief  and  Andreief  went  out,  and  Dora 
closed  the  door  behind  them,  listening  for  a  long 
while  to  their  retreating  steps. 

When  she  came  back,  Nesnamof  was  standing  at 
the  window.  He  had  pulled  the  blind  slightly  to  one 
side,  and  was  looking  out  at  the  street.  It  was  yet 
night,  and  the  streets  were  strangely  deserted ;    but 


MORNING  SHADOWS  20T 

the  sky  was  already  touched  with  the  light  of  the 
coming  dawn,  and  the  last  star  trembled  in  the  blue 
spaces  overhead. 

"It  is  already  day ;  what  short  nights  you  have 
here,"  said  Nesnamof  smiling,  as  he  heard  Dora 
coming  back. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Dora  confusedly,  as  she  began  to 
clear  away  the  tea-things.  She  was  in  a  strange 
frame  of  mind,  for  now  she  was,  for  the  first  time, 
conscious  that  her  decision  was  irrevocable.  Besides 
that,  she  felt  a  vague  girlish  diffidence,  and  also  a 
certain  pride  and  pleasure  in  being  the  companion, 
on  this  last  evening,  of  one  whose  name  next  day 
would  resound  throughout  all  Russia,  and  cause  the 
stony  hearts  of  the  oppressors  to  quake  with  fear. 

Slowly  yet  steadily  the  dawn  approached,  as  the 
roseate  light  touched  Nesnamof's  pallid  features  and 
blonde  hair.  He  sighed  deeply,  and  as  he  moved  away 
from  the  window,  he  said  to  Dora  with  a  faint  smile  : 

"  Perhaps  this  is  the  last  sunrise  that  I  shall  see  ! 
There's  only  one  thing  that  I  am  sorry  for ;  you 
know  I  am  really  most  terribly  sentimental ;  I  love 
the  sunlight,  the  sky,  and  spring-time,  and  autumn ; 
the  green  grass  ;  all  the  peace  and  joy  that  nature 
gives.  I  really  don't  want  to  kill  anybody.  I  don't 
want  to  die." 

"  Then  why  do  you  undertake  this  ?  "  asked  Dora 
nervously,  feeling  again  proudly  conscious  that  her 
question  was  making  history. 

"  I  don't  quite  know  how  to  explain  that,"  replied 
Nesnamof.  "  Most  probably  it  is  because  I  love  life 
myself  so  much  that  it  grieves  me  to  see  how  others 
spoil  it." 


208     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

He  stood  there  before  Dora,  tall,  slim,  almost 
radiant,  as  he  smiled  continually ;  yet  again  Dora 
felt  that  sense  of  horror  at  her  heart,  and  for  very 
dread  was  dumb.  Hardly  able  to  hold  back  her 
tears,  she  hurriedly  gave  him  her  hand,  and  said 
without  looking  up  : 

"  God  grant  that  it  may  all  end  well !  " 

"  No  matter  if  it  doesn't,"  replied  Nesnamof.  "  If 
not  the  first  time,  then  it  will  be  the  second  time.  It's 
all  the  same.  All  those  who  have  brought  the  people 
into  this  appalling  state  I  count  as  my  pt-rsonal 
enemies  ;  and  if  I  succeed  in  escaping  with  my  life 
this  time,  I  shall  go  and  kill  somebody  else.  It 
doesn't  matter." 

Dora  glanced  up  at  his  bright,  sad  eyes.  Something 
looked  out  from  them  so  pure  and  unspeakably  noble, 
that  it  touched  her  soul,  and  made  her  own  personality 
seem  wonderfully  mean  and  worthless.  Yet  the 
consciousness  of  this  did  not  annoy  her ;  it  roused 
her  sympathy ;  and  again  the  tears  rose  to  her 
eyes. 

"  Have  you  any  paper  and  ink  ?  "  asked  Nesnamof. 
"  I  should  like  to  write  to  my  mother.  I  may  not 
have  an  opportunity  later  on." 

Dora  could  not  speak ;  she  only  nodded.  She 
brought  him  writing  materials,  and  for  awhile  stood 
there  as  if  she  wished  to  say  something.  Yet  the 
words  would  not  come,  and  she  went  back  to  her 
room.  There  she  lay  for  a  long  while,  wrapped  in 
her  large  shawl,  listening  to  Nesnamof  as  he  moved, 
or  rustled  the  paper ;  and  her  little  lonely  heart 
seemed  breaking  with  pity,  with  grief,  and  for  the 
first  time,  with  love.     She  longed  to  get  up  and  go  to 


MORNING  SHADOWS  209 

him  and  caress  him,  weep  for  him,  and  with  her 
embraces  shield  him  from  the  horror  that  was  at 
hand.  But  she  lay  there  motionless,  sobbing  gently, 
fearful  lest  he  shoufd  hear  her  tears. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

A  MIST  hung  above  the  city,  and  the  air  was  full 
of  dust.  The  Prospekt  and  its  adjoining  street  were 
crowded  with  carriages  and  other  vehicles  which 
were  all  so  much  alike  that  it  seemed  as  if  they  were 
intentionally  going  up  and  down  in  the  same  place. 
The  pavements  were  thronged,  and  short  blue  shadows 
from  the  houses  fell  across  the  street.  It  was  so  hot 
that  to  breathe  seemed  a  positive  effort. 

Dora,  as  she  stood  there,  found  it  most  trying. 
Her  sleepless  night  and  recent  indisposition,  besides 
all  the  terrible  suspense,  had  unnerved  her  and  sapped 
her  strength.  She  stood  at  the  corner  of  the  street 
in  a  little  patch  of  sultry  shade,  eagerly  watching  the 
railway  station. 

Outside  its  broad  entrance,  in  the  fierce  sunlight, 
stood  porters  in  white  aprons,  and  people  were  con- 
tinually passing  in  and  out.  Droshkies  dashed  up  to 
the  entrance,  and  then  slowly  drove  away. 

The  large  round  face  of  the  clock  towered  above 
all,  looking  down  sternly  and  intently  upon  all  that 
was  happening  in  the  square. 

To  Dora,  it  was  as  if  she  had  spent  her  whole  life 
standing  there,  looking  at  this  clock,  at  the  porters' 
white  aprons  gleaming  in  the  sunshine,  and  at  the 
broad  stone  steps.     The  railway  station,  an  old  build- 


MORNING  SHADOWS  211 

ing  that  had  long  been  to  her  a  familiar  object,  seemed 
aloof  from  all  else  in  the  world,  and  had  a  grim, 
sinister  appearance.  Even  if  she  had  wished  to  do 
so,  she  could  Aot  take  her  aching  anxious  eyes  off 
it.  In  her  heart  there  was  the  same  unrest.  The 
weather  was  hot,  yet  she  kept  shivering,  and  her 
knees  trembled.  She  felt  that  this  agitation  would 
be  noticed  by  all.  People  came  and  went,  and 
thousands  of  faces  that  she  did  not  know  flashed  past 
her  vision.  "  If  it's  such  a  terrible  thing,  who  forces 
me  to  do  it  ?  "  were  the  words  that  suddenly  rang 
in  her  ear.  She  very  nearly  shrugged  her  shoulders 
and  resolved  to  turn  round  smiHng,  and  walk  away. 
Again  she  asked  herself :  "  Am  I  really  so  terribly 
frightened  ?  "  With  this  thought  of  her  own  pitiable 
cowardice,  the  pale  image  of  Nesnamof  rose  up  before 
her,  and  for  a  moment  brought  her  certain  relief. 

Her  nervous  tremor  ceased  ;  she  stood  more  firmly 
on  her  feet,  and  the  strained  look  in  her  eyes  became 
less  intense. 

A  tall  man,  with  delicate  features  and  curly  hair, 
walked  past  her,  in  a  long  peasant's  coat  and  jack- 
boots. Dora  glanced  at  him  for  a  moment,  and  like 
hundreds  of  other  passers-by  he  had  almost  dis- 
appeared when  she  suddenly  felt  that  she  knew  his 
face.  It  was  Korenief.  He  looked  calm,  almost 
jovial,  in  fact ;  yet  his  face  wore  a  strange,  stony 
expression.  He  had  walked  past  her  quickly  without 
stopping,  and  amid  the  noise  of  the  traffic,  without 
looking  at  her,  but  as  if  talking  to  himself,  he  had 
said  : 

"  Look  out  !     Soon  !  .  .  ." 

Dora  never  heard  that  last  word,  but  she  divined 


212     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

it.  He  had  vanished  in  the  crowd,  but  still  she 
heard  those  swift  words  of  warning. 

Close  behind  him  walked  a  fat  gentleman  wearing 
a  tall  hat.  He  was  clean-shaven,  and  his  face  appeared 
to  be  of  the  official  type.  Dora  noticed  him  as  he 
passed,  but  to  her  he  was  a  total  stranger.  The  time 
passed.  A  veritable  eternity  it  seemed  to  Dora. 
"  Oh,  God,  if  only  they  would  make  haste  !  "  she 
thought,  and  again  her  anxious  eyes  were  fixed  on 
the  railway  station. 

"  What  are  you  stopping  here  for  ?  "  cried  a  young 
red-haired  dvornik,  who,  not  far  from  Dora,  was 
turning  a  tap  in  the  public  roadway.  "  Drive  on 
at  once,  you  damned  fool  !  " 

A  drosliky-driver  clumsily  drove  on  in  evident 
alarm.  Yet  Dora  managed  to  recognize  Larionof. 
She  knew  him  by  his  weak  eyes  and  stubbly  beard, 
which  in  no  way  matched  the  strange  blue,  driver's 
coat. 

She  felt  a  thrill  of  sympathy.  "  What's  he  doing  ? 
He  mustn't  stop  there !  "  she  thought  in  terrible 
alarm. 

She  remembered  Korenief's  bitter  remark,  "  They 
all  want  to  undertake  the  job,  but  when  it  comes  to 
the  scratch  .  .  ." 

At  the  time  she  had  been  indignant  with  him  for 
saying  that,  but  now,  in  this  moment,  she  was 
obsessed  by  the  awful  certainty  that  she  was  going 
to  lose  her  nerve,  forget  something,  and  do  everything 
all  wrong,  bringing  ruin  to  herself  and  to  the  others. 
This  conviction  remained  fixed  in  her  mind,  heighten- 
ing her  confusion  and  alarm.  She  was  now  in  a  cold 
sweat,  as  she  strove  to  recall  to  her  memory  all  the 


MORNING  SHADOWS  213 

details  of  her  task.  Yet  each  time  she  seemed  to 
have  forgotten  something,  the  most  important  thing 
of  all. 

"  When  the  'old  nurse  Trude  comes  out  on  the 
steps,  then  .  .  .  Trude  !  What  a  funny  name  .  .  . 
that  doesn't  matter.  Yes,  when  she  comes  out  and 
hails  a  droshky,  then  I  have  got  to  .  .  .  I've  got 
to  .  .  .  let  me  see,  what  is  it  ?  .  .  ." 

Everything  was  topsy-turvy  in  her  fevered  brain  ; 
and  just  as  she  had  utterly  lost  the  thread,  her  eyes 
met  those  of  a  person  who  was  staring  hard  at  her. 
A  man  of  the  middle  class  walked  past.  While  yet 
at  some  distance  he  had  been  watching  her  without 
her  knowing  it.  Now  that  their  eyes  had  met,  he 
turned  away  and  crossed  the  street. 

"  A  detective  !  I'm  caught  !  "  flashed  through 
Dora's  brain.  She  strove  with  all  her  might  to 
prevent  her  teeth  from  chattering.  "  Nonsense ! 
Why  should  that  be  ?  They'd  have  arrested  me  long 
before.  ..." 

One  thought  followed  another  at  random,  and  she 
moved  restlessly  from  side  to  side. 

Just  at  that  moment,  Nurse  Trude,  in  her  plain 
black  dress,  came  out  on  to  the  broad  stone  steps 
of  the  station  and  hailed  the  nearest  droshky.  Some- 
thing seemed  to  snap  in  Dora's  brain,  and  everything 
became  blurred  and  misty  before  her  eyes. 

"  Now  for  it !  "  she  thought  feebly.  With  un- 
natural energy,  and  conscious  all  the  while  that  she 
was  doing  the  wrong  thing,  Dora  whipped  out  her 
handkerchief,  waving  it  like  a  white  flag  in  the  sun. 

She  could  just  see  a  black  closed  carriage  driving 
slowly    away    from    the    station   entrance.     At    that 


214     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

moment,  the  fat,  clean-shaven  man  in  the  tall  hat 
suddenly  appeared  at  Dora's  side,  and  said  sharply : 

"  What  are  you  doing  here  ?  " 

Dora  hastily  turned  round,  white  as  a  sheet,  with 
her  eyes  starting  from  their  sockets.  Not  knowing 
why,  yet  aware  that  her  act  was  senseless  and  fatal, 
she  drew  a  revolver  from  her  pocket,  and,  pushing 
it  against  something  soft,  pulled  the  trigger. 

In  the  noise  of  the  traffic  only  a  slight  report  was 
audible.  The  fat,  clean-shaven  man  started  back- 
wards, and  as  his  tall  hat  tumbled  off,  he  fell  forwards 
under  the  hoofs  of  a  droshky  horse,  which  with  much 
clatter  and  noise  slipped  down  sideways  on  the  pave- 
ment. Everything  before  Dora's  eyes  became  con- 
fused, she  only  saw  how  the  black  tall  hat  was  rolling 
about  under  the  feet  of  the  crowd,  and  heard  vague 
shouts  in  all  directions. 

"  All's  lost !  "  The  words  burned  in  her  brain, 
as,  pushing  through  the  crowd,  she  rushed  madly 
round  the  corner,  stumbling  over  a  hose-pipe  that  lay 
across  the  pavement.  Then  she  had  a  sensation  of 
being  seized  and  struck  on  the  head  by  some  heavy 
weapon.  She  closed  her  eyes  and  fell  forward  on 
the  hard  granite. 

"  This  is  the  end  !  "  cried  an  inward  voice,  echoing 
through  the  whole  world  as  it  seemed  to  her.  Then 
she  fainted. 

Recovering  consciousness,  she  felt  herself  being 
hustled  into  a  droshky,  jammed  in  between  two 
gendarmes,  with  yellow  braid  on  their  uniforms  and 
fury  in  their  faces.  Her  brain  was  in  a  whirl ;  she 
suffered  intolerable  pain  from  wounds  on  her  head  ; 
and  warm  blood  streamed  over  her  face  and  lips. 


MORNING  SHADOWS  215 

Her  eyes  were  fixed  on  Larionof  s  mad  face  in  the 
middle  of  the  road.  His  horse's  bridle  had  been 
seized  by  dozens  of  hands,  while  others  clutched  at 
his  blue  coat,  and  he  meanwhile  was  tugging  madly 
at  the  reins  and  beating  the  wretched  animal.  This 
reared,  and,  showing  its  teeth,  kicked  out  wildly  on 
all  sides. 

"  Stop  him  !  Don't  let  him  go  !  "  was  the  general 
cry,  which  seemed  to  be  taken  up  not  merely  by 
human  beings,  but  by  the  walls  of  the  houses,  the 
noise  of  the  traffic,  and  the  dazzling  light. 

When  the  droshky  with  Dora,  who  had  fainted  a 
second  time,  passed  the  railway  station,  there  were 
pompous,  portly  gentlemen  in  uniform  and  imposing 
cloaks,  standing  on  the  broad  steps,  while  behind 
them  the  big  nurse  in  her  black  dress  leaned  calmly 
against  a  pillar,  with  scorn  in  her  eyes. 


PASHA  TUMANOF 


/^ 


PASHA  TUMANOF 


CHAPTER  I 

In  the  dingy  passage,  outside  the  closed  yellow  door 
of  the  police-inspector's  office,  there  stood  a  soldier 
with  his  back  to  the  wardrobe.  His  face  was  pock- 
marked, and  his  uniform,  in  places,  torn. 

He  looked  thoroughly  docile  and  stupid,  yet  his 
features  could  assume  a  stern  expression  if  a  stranger 
approached  the  office. 

As  it  happened,  a  stranger  had  actually  attempted 
to  enter  the  office,  yet  not  between  the  hours  of 
twelve  and  three,  which  were  those  when  visitors 
were  admitted.  He  was  a  youth  wearing  the  usual 
grammar-school  cloak  and  cap.  He  was  of  medium 
height,  and  his  face  with  its  broad  brow,  if  not  hand- 
some, was  yet  somewhat  pleasing  ;  and  on  his  cheeks 
and  upper  lip  a  slight  down  could  be  seen.  The 
young  man  was  flushed,  and  evidently  in  a  state  of 
great  excitement.  He  hurried  in,  as  though  some 
one  were  pursuing  him,  and  hastily  removed  his 
cap. 

"  Is  this  the  inspector's  office  ?  "  he  asked  loudly, 
as  if  repeating  words  that  he  had  learned  by  heart. 

"  Yes,  it  is,"  replied  the  soldier,  who  looked  none 


220     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

too  pleased  at  being  disturbed  in  his  occupation  of 
leaning  against  the  wardrobe. 

"  What  does  the  fellow  want  ?  "  he  thought ;  "  he 
knows  it's  from  twelve  to  three.  'Tis  merely  worrying 
people." 

"  Is  this  the  way  in  ?  "  asked  the  youth  in  the 
same  loud  voice,  as  he  approached  the  closed  door. 

"  Yes,  but  no  one  is  admitted  at  this  time,"  said 
the  soldier,  standing  in  front  of  the  door. 

"  Oh,  but  I  must  see  the  inspector  !  " 

"  Please  call  between  twelve  and  three,"  was  the 
soldier's  curt  rejoinder,  as  he  wiped  his  nose  with 
the  back  of  his  hand. 

"  I  must  see  him  at  once." 

"  My  orders  are  to  admit  no  one." 

At  this  unlooked-for  hindrance,  which  thus  inter- 
fered with  the  serious  business  that  he  had  in  hand, 
the  young  man  appeared  to  be  greatly  distressed. 
This  callous,  dirty  soldier  seemed  to  him  to  have  so 
little  in  common  with  the  grave  subject  of  his  visit, 
that  he  felt  inclined  to  walk  out  of  the  building.  On 
reaching  the  entrance,  however,  he  stopped,  and 
turning  very  red,  he  blurted  out : 

"  I  want  to  give  myself  up  !    I  have  killed  some  one." 

"  Who  is  it  ?  "  asked  the  soldier  stupidly. 

The  youth  was  silent  and  stared  at  the  soldier,  who, 
with  his  goggle  eyes  and  foolish  grin,  returned  the  stare. 

"  This  way  !  "  said  the  latter  at  last,  shaking  his 
head  doubtfully,  as  he  pushed  open  the  door  and 
stood  aside. 

For  some  reason  or  other,  the  young  man  put  on 
his  cap,  and  then,  swiftly  removing  it,  walked  in. 

The  soldier  stared.  ' 


CHAPTER  II 

In  the  large  bright  room,  with  portraits  of  the  Tsar 
and  the  Tsarina  hanging  on  its  walls,  there  were 
four  persons :  the  Chief  Inspector  of  Police,  an 
important-looking  personage  with  a  heavy  moustache, 
and  rings  on  his  fingers  ;  his  fat  assistant,  bull-necked 
and  purple-faced ;  a  lean,  consumptive  sergeant, 
whose  uniform  hung  on  his  puny  figure  as  if  on  a 
peg.  The  fourth  person  wore  undress  uniform,  with 
bright  buttons.  He  had  a  long  red  beard,  and  blue 
spectacles  on  his  big,  blotchy  nose.  He  stood  at  a 
table  near  the  window,  looking  through  various 
documents,  while  listening  to  all  that  the  inspector 
was  saying. 

The  latter  sat  facing  the  door,  leaning  both  elbows 
on  the  green  table.  Laughing  and  gesticulating,  he 
was  telling  the  others  about  a  young  Jewess,  the 
daughter  of  a  watchmaker,  who  had  been  arrested 
in  a  recent  raid  on  prostitutes.  Despite  her  father's 
deposition  that  she  was  under  age,  and  only  a  child, 
she  had  been  found  to  be  pregnant. 

"  Ha  !  Ha  !  Ha  !  Only  a  child,  indeed  !  "  laughed 
the  inspector,  as  his  body  in  its  bright  uniform  rocked 
from  side  to  side. 

The  sergeant  stood  in  front  of  them,  looking  as 
stiff  as  a  post.     He  laughed,  too,  though  his  feeble 


222     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

state  made  standing  irksome.  He  scowled  at  the 
robust,  jovial  inspector,  partly  from  jealousy;  yet, 
of  course,  he  dared  not  interrupt  all  this  idle  gossip 
on  behalf  of  an  important  document  requiring  imme- 
diate attention,  and  which  for  some  minutes  he  had 
been  waiting. 

Though  he  could  not  bear  the  inspector  because 
he  was  so  insolent  and  so  boastful,  the  secretary 
enjoyed  listening  to  his  stories,  because  that  day  he 
had  heard  on  good  authority  that  the  chief's  dis- 
missal was  imminent.  In  the  office  it  was  already 
discussed  as  an  absolute  fact,  though  the  inspector 
himself  apparently  knew  nothing  whatever  about  it. 

"  If  you  knew  what  I  know,"  thought  the  secretary 
spitefully,  "  you  would  not  laugh  like  that." 

As  the  schoolboy  entered,  they  all  looked  at  him, 
and  the':  inspector  stopped  speaking.  The  lad  stood 
in  the  middle  of  the  room  and  hastily  fumbled  in  his 
pocket  for  something  that  he  found  it  difficult  to 
pull  out. 

The  sergeant  thought  it  was  his  duty  to  question 
the  young  fellow,  and  the  secretary  had  the  same 
impression  also.     So  they  both  said  simultaneously  : 

"  What  do  you  want  ?  " 

The  boy,  however,  did  not  answer,  but  looked  at 
them  in  bewilderment,  as  he  still  fumbled  at  his 
pocket,  and  crumbs  fell  from  it  on  to  the  floor.  He 
was  flushed  and  breathless ;  his  face  wore  a  helpless, 
piteous  expression. 

Holding  his  head  sideways  like  a  woodpecker,  the 
sergeant  peered  at  the  boy's  pocket,  and  was  about 
to  ask  something.  But  at  that  moment,  having  at 
last  turned  his  pocket  inside  out,  the  lad  produced 


PASHA  TUMANOF  223 

a  small,  shining  revolver  which  he  handed  to  the 
inspector.  The  latter  involuntarily  stretched  out 
his  hand  and  took  the  weapon. 

*'  I  have  shot  the  head  master,"  said  the  boy 
suddenly. 

*'  What  did  you  say  ?  "  asked  the  inspector,  raising 
his  eyebrows. 

"  Whom  ?  "  cried  the  fat  assistant,  looking  obviously 
shocked. 

"  The  head  master,  Vladimir  Stepanovitch,"  re- 
peated the  boy  hoarsely. 

"  Vosnesenski  ?  "  exclaimed  the  inspector. 

"  Yes,"  faltered  the  lad. 

Then  they  instantly  began  to  bustle  about.  The 
inspector  in  buckling  on  his  sword  twisted  the  belt. 
The  sergeant  ran  out  to  call  a  droshky,  while  the 
terrified  assistant  searched  everywhere  for  his  cap.' 
As  they  thus  ran  hither  and  thither  in  their  excite- 
ment, they  entirely  forgot  the  cause  of  it  all.  It  was 
not  until  he  was  going  out  that  the  inspector  thought 
of  questioning  the  young  fellow. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  sharply. 

The  boy  did  not  answer.  Evidently  he  was 
unconscious  of  what  was  taking  place  as  he  stood 
fidgeting  with  his  cap. 

The  sergeant  sprang  forward  and  shouted  in  his 
ear : 

"  Who  are  you  ?  " 

"  Pavel  Tumanof,  in  the  Upper  Fifth,"  replied  the 
boy,  addressing  himself  to  the  sergeant,  which  some- 
what confused  the  latter,  who  by  a  gesture  implied 
that  the  answer  should  have  been  given  to  his  chief. 

"  We  must  drive  there  at  once,"  said  the  inspector 


224     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

hastily.  "  Shocking  thing,  to  be  sure !  Are  you 
coming,  too  ?  "  he  asked  the  assistant. 

"  Yes,  yes  !  "  cried  the  latter  breathlessly,  as  he 
seized  his  cap. 

"  Victor  Alexandrovitch,"  said  the  sergeant,  as  he 
stepped  forward  obsequiously.  "  What  are  we  to  do 
with  him  ?  "     He  indicated  the  boy  by  a  nod. 

"  Ah  !  yes,  to  be  sure  !  He  must  be  detained  here 
until  I  come  back." 

"  What  about  the  revolver  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  yes,  the  corpus  delicti  !  Lock  it  up.  You 
are  coming  with  us,  and  Andrei  Semionovitch  will 
keep  an  eye  on  him.  Do  you  hear,  Andrei  Semiono- 
vitch ?  "  said  the  inspector  in  the  doorway. 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  grunted  the  secretary,  without 


movmg 


The  sergeant  nodded  to  him  and  hurried  after  the 
inspector.  A  moment  later,  two  droshkys  rattled 
past  the  window,  conveying  the  police  authorities  to 
the  scene  of  the  crime. 


CHAPTER  III 

In  the  office  the  secretary  remained  seated  at  his 
table,  while  the  schoolboy,  with  his  jacket-pocket 
turned  inside  out,  still  stood  in  the  centre  of  the  room. 
Reporters  and  policemen  looked  in  through  the  open 
door.  They  had  already  got  wind  of  the  affair,  and 
eyed  the  schoolboy  curiously. 

The  secretary  began  to  feel  uncomfortable.  Cross- 
ing the  room  on  tiptoe  he  closed  the  door,  and  by  a 
gesture  bade  the  inquisitive  begone.  Resuming  his 
seat,  he  muttered  : 

"  Sit  down.     Don't  stand  there  like  that !  " 

The  boy  walked  mechanically  towards  the  wall 
and  sat  down  on  a  chair.  He  went  on  fidgeting 
nervously  with  his  cap. 

The  secretary  quietly  resumed  his  seat.  He  felt 
sorry  for  the  boy,  and  could  hardly  believe  that  he 
had  a  murderer  in  front  of  him.  He  affected  not  to 
notice  him,  and  busied  himself  with  his  papers,  while 
glancing  furtively  from  time  to  time  at  the  delinquent, 
who  remained  motionless. 

Pasha  Tumanof  sat  close  to  the  window  in  an 
uncomfortable,  stiff  attitude.  His  lips  were  tightly 
shut,  and  he  was  breathing  hard  through  his  nose. 
He  continued  gazing  at  one  particular  spot  on  the 
floor  where  the  crumbs  had  fallen,  and  he  longed  to 

P 


226     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

pick  them  up.  He  could  not  bear  to  see  them  strewn 
about  on  the  yellow,  polished  floor,  as,  in  a  way,  they 
reminded  him  of  what  had  occurred. 

But  this  was  only  his  fancy.  What  really  tortured 
him  was  the  longing  to  undo  that  which  had  been 
done,  to  get  rid  of  the  awful,  mad  deed  of  the  morning, 
which,  like  a  sharp  wedge,  had  been  driven  into  his 
life.  But  a  certain  deadly  numbness  overcame  him. 
He  could  not  explain  how  "  it  "  had  really  all  hap- 
pened, nor  why  he  was  now  sitting  in  this  big,  empty 
room  with  a  bearded  man  in  blue  spectacles,  who  was 
fumbling  over  papers.  Sometimes  he  felt  that  he 
had  only  to  get  up  and  walk  out,  and  then  the  whole 
thing  would  end,  and  prove  to  be  merely  a  silly  joke. 
Yet  that  idea  soon  vanished  in  a  maze  of  fantastic 
shapes,  broken  words,  and  blood-red  stains,  moving, 
waving,  and  floating  before  his  mental  vision,  till  all 
became  a  crimson  mist  in  which  hideous,  yet  familiar 
faces  danced  and  gibbered. 

Pasha  Tumanof  shuddered  involuntarily,  and  again 
for  a  moment  he  saw  the  big,  bright  windows,  and 
the  outline  of  a  bearded  head.  Again  he  heard 
the  rustling  papers.  His  was  a  state  that  bordered 
on  delirium,  while  in  all  this  chaos  he  felt  that  there 
was  something  which  he  must  do,  something  most 
important ;  in  fact,  decisive.  What  this  was  he 
could  not  make  out,  but  it  worried  him  so  much  that 
the  crumbs  on  the  floor  were  of  no  interest  now.  By 
an  effort  he  suddenly  became  aware  of  what  the 
"  something  "  was. 

It  was  the  pocket  turned  inside  out.  He  laid  his 
cap  on  a  chair  and  carefully  put  the  pocket  into  its 
place  again.    In  so  doing  he  could  still  feel  a  few 


PASHA  TUMANOF  227 

crumbs.  They  were  those  of  the  piece  of  cake  which 
they  had  given  him  when  leaving  home  that  morning. 

All  at  oncfe  he  felt  utterly  miserable,  and  he  began 
to  cry  ;   gently  at  first,  then  gradually  louder. 

The  secretary  was  alarmed.  He  jumped  up,  laid 
down  his  pen,  filled  a  glass  with  water  and  brought 
it  to  Pasha,  who,  however,  did  not  drink  any,  but 
continued  sobbing,  while  trembling  as  if  in  a  fever. 

"  Come  !  Come  !  That  will  do  !  Don't  be  silly. 
Here,  have  some  water !  "  growled  the  secretary. 
Then,  in  a  gentler  tone,  as  if  prompted  by  some 
inward  voice,  he  said,  "  Poor  boy  !  "  and  patted  Pasha 
on  the  head.  At  this  touch  of  sympathy  the  lad's 
grief  became  more  violent.  He  sobbed  hysterically. 
He  felt  as  if  in  the  whole  world  no  one  but  the  secre- 
tary pitied  him.  He  pressed  his  head  against  the 
secretary's  waistcoat,  and  his  nose  came  into  painful 
contact  with  one  of  the  metal  buttons  on  it.  Thus 
he  wept,  while  the  secretary  looked  about  him, 
helpless  and  bewildered. 


CHAPTER  IV 

On  the  previous  evening  Pasha  Tumanof  had  been 
lying  on  an  old  sofa  which  served  as  his  bed.  He  had 
crushed  the  pillow  under  his  head  in  such  a  way  that 
he  felt  hot  and  uncomfortable,  and,  as  he  lay  there, 
he  watched  how  the  shaded  lamp  threw  a  soft,  even 
light  on  the  table.  All  his  books  and  exercise-books 
were  brightly  illumined  ;  the  cover  of  the  ink-pot 
shone,  while,  somewhat  nearer  to  him  an  arm-chair 
cast  a  black  shadow,  the  rest  of  the  room  being 
immersed  in  gloom. 

Pasha  Tumanof  lay  there,  moody  and  inert, 
although  he  knew  that  every  hour  was  precious. 
He  was  in  despair,  for  he  felt  convinced  that  all  his 
efforts  to  recapture  in  two  or  three  days  what  he 
had  wasted  in  seven  years,  were  futile ;  and  now  he 
felt  powerless  to  work. 

Why  he  had  wasted  so  much  he  could  not  tell. 
It  was  partly  through  laziness,  and  partly  circum- 
stances were  to  blame  ;  circumstances  over  which  he 
had  no  control.  The  main  reason,  however,  was  that 
life,  real,  active  life  with  all  its  interests,  had  taken 
hold  of  him.  This  life  was  far  removed  from  the 
deadly  calm  of  the  grammar-school. 

When  Pasha  had  finally  grasped  the  real  facts 
of  the  case,  and  had  convinced  himself  that  delusion 


^ 


PASHA  TUMANOF  229 

was  no  longer  possible,  he  relapsed  into  a  state  of 
despair,  almost  of  apathy.  He  got  up  from  the  table 
without  closing  his  books,  and  lay  down  on  the  couch, 
feeling  utterly  miserable.  Besides  pity  for  himself, 
he  felt  a  dull  hatred  for  those  persons  to  whom  he 
ascribed  all  his  misfortune.  He  hated  the  head 
master  and  the  classical  master. 

In  this  he  was  wrong.  His  unhappiness  was 
certainly  not  due  to  these  two  government  officials ; 
nor  could  their  relative  merits  and  defects,  as  teachers 
and  officials,  be  made  responsible  for  this.  It  was  due 
to  the  unnatural  circumstance  that  a  youth  of  twenty, 
thirsting  to  know  all  the  meaning  of  life,  should  be 
forced  to  pore  over  tedious,  lifeless  books,  and  to  this 
end  should  have  to  sacrifice  all  for  which  each  young 
man  is  wont  to  strive.  Nevertheless,  Pasha  Tumanof 
looked  upon  the  head  master  and  Alexandrovitch,  the 
Latin  master,  as  the  cause  of  all  his  ill  luck,  which 
next  day  would  certainly  increase.  This  sense  of 
rage  which  gnawed  at  his  kind,  soft  heart,  grew 
more  acute  until  it  became  a  positive  obs^ession. 
He  breathed  with  difficulty  ;  the  atmosphere  of  his 
fury  seemed  to  choke  him.  Even  the  light  of  the 
lamp  appeared  to  grow  dim,  and  to  acquire  a  certain 
glamour.  Pasha  knew  that  he  ought  to  shake  off  this 
morbid  depression,  but  obstinate  despair  proved 
stronger  than  his  will,  and  he  lay  there  motionless,  a 
prey  to  moral  and  physical  torture. 

Suddenly  the  door  was  gently  opened,  and  from 
an  adjoining  room,  where  Pasha's  sisters  were  sitting, 
and  a  maid  was  laying  the  cloth,  came  a  sound  of 
merry  laughter,  as  plates  clattered,  and  knives  and 
forks    rattled.     Anna    Ivanovna,    Pasha's    mother, 


^30     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

entered — the  widow  of  a  Colonel.  She  had  a  pension, 
with  an  additional  allowance  for  the  education  of 
her  children.  She  was  a  delicate-looking  lady  with  a 
soft  voice  and  an  inexhaustible  supply  of  feminine 
tenderness.  She  looked  careworn  and  prematurely 
aged.  She  came  into  the  room  gently,  touched 
Pasha's  forehead  with  her  soft,  warm  hand,  and  sat 
down  at  the  table. 

"  We  are  going  to  have  supper  .  .  .  Are  you  tired  ?" 

The  usual  sad,  apprehensive  look  in  her  eyes,  and  the 
fact  of  her  sitting  down  when  asking  him  to  come  to 
supper,  told  Pasha  what  she  really  wanted.  He  said 
nothing,  but  merely  nodded  in  reply. 

Anna  Ivanovna  turned  over  the  leaves  of  a  book,  as, 
glancing  downwards,  she  thought  sadly  how  callous 
children  were,  and  how  incapable  of  understanding  all 
the  troubles  of  their  parents. 

If  Pasha  could  but  realize  all  her  grief  and  anxiety 
on  his  account,  she  felt  sure  that  he  would  at  once 
set  to  work  and  become  a  thoroughly  able  fellow. 

Pasha,  as  he  glanced  at  her,  was  thinking  almost  the 
same  thing  ;  how  cruel  his  mother  was,  how  impossible 
it  was  for  her  to  understand  the  tedium  and  the 
difficulty  of  his  school  work,  and  that  he.  Pasha,  in 
spite  of  it  all,  was  a  kind,  good  lad,  although  he  didn't 
manage  to  pass  his  exam.  He  wanted  to  tell  his 
mother  how  miserable  he  was ;  how  those  hateful 
masters  were  to  blame  for  all  his  bad  luck,  and  that 
neither  she  nor  anybody  else  would  be  a  bit  the  worse 
if,  instead  of  five  marks,  they  only  gave  him  two,  or 
possibly  three.  Yet  Pasha  felt  that  his  mother,  kind 
as  she  was,  could  not  understand  him,  and  would  not 
believe  that  his  teachers  had  a  spite  against  him. 


PASHA  TUMANOF  231 

Therefore,  towards  her,  too,  he  felt  vague  indignation, 
and  remained  obstinately  silent,  staring  at  the  lamp. 

At  last  Anna  Ivanovna  sighed  sadly  and  rose. 

"  Well,  come  to  supper,"  she  said. 

Pasha  knew  that  she  would  not  go  like  that,  and 
that  he  would  have  to  tell  a  lie,  after  all. 

"  How  are  you  getting  on.  Pasha  ?  "  she  asked 
timidly.     "  Do  you  think  that  you  will  pass  ?  " 

Such  was  his  irritation  at  this,  that  he  longed  to 
shout  out,  "  For  goodness'  sake,  leave  me  alone  ! 
How  on  earth  do  I  know  ?  " 

But  when  he  saw  her  large,  kind  eyes  with  their 
expression  of  tenderness  and  anxiety,  he  suddenly  felt 
such  intense  sympathy  for  her,  that  he  got  up,  and, 
putting  his  arm  round  her  waist,  said  hurriedly  : 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  shall  pass  all  right !  Let's  go  to 
supper,  mother,  darling."  And  he  leaned  affection- 
ately against  her. 

Anna  Ivanovna  sighed  again,  and  for  a  time  felt 
reassured. 

At  supper  Pasha  became  excited,  laughing  and 
joking  a  good  deal  with  his  sisters.  But,  afterwards, 
in  his  room,  when  he  had  undressed  himself  and  had 
put  out  the  lamp,  as  he  lay  in  bed,  the  thoughts  that 
distressed  him  returned  and  his  former  fury  increased. 
He  could  not  sleep,  and  stared  at  the  darkness  with 
jaded  eyes  full  of  hatred  for  all  the  world  and  of  pity 
for  himself.  When  at  last  he  fell  asleep  he  dreamed 
of  trees  and  sunlight,  of  familiar  faces  and  all  kinds  of 
bright,  joyous  things. 


CHAPTER  V 

NjEXT  morning  Pasha  Tumanof  rose  very  early,  and  at 
the  thought  that  he  had  to  go  up  for  his  examination 
that  day,  he  turned  cold,  while  something  seemed  to 
clutch  at  his  heart.  He  was  a  long  while  dressing 
himself.  First  he  hurried,  then  he  dawdled,  and 
at  last  went  into  the  dining-room.  The  shining, 
polished  floor  looked  cold  ;  on  the  table  with  its 
spotless  cloth  in  which  one  still  could  see  the  folds, 
stood  the  bright,  hissing  samovar.  His  sisters  were 
asleep  still,  but  Anna  Ivanovna  was  already  seated  by 
the  tea-urn  and  she  smiled  at  Pasha  in  a  shy,  anxious 
way.  Pasha  smiled  too,  though  he  could  not  look 
her  in  the  face. 

"It's  late,  isn't  it,  Pasha  ?  "  said  his  mother. 

He  made  a  grimace. 

"  Just  half-past  eight,"  he  said. 

"  But,  by  the  time  you  get  there  .  .  ."  replied  the 
mother,  as  she  put  down  the  teapot. 

These  simple  words  which  he  was  accustomed  to 
hear  every  day,  on  this  occasion  annoyed  him 
intensely. 

"  Can't  you  see  I'm  hurrying  ?  "  he  said,  rudely, 
"  give  me  some  tea,  do." 

His  mother  looked  at  him  anxiously. 

"  Here  it  is,  dear.     I  feel  so  .  .  ." 


PASHA  TUMANOF  233 

Pasha  felt  sorry  that  he  had  pained  his  mother 
by  this  rough  speech.  He  wanted  to  apologize,  yet 
his  ill-temper  -  prevented  him.  He  got  up  with 
an  injured  air,  and  taking  a  book  from  one  of  the 
shelves,  he  put  on  his  cap.  Seated  behind  the 
samovar,  Anna  Ivanovna  waited  to  see  if  he  would 
come  as  usual  to  get  her  kiss  and  her  blessing. 

Pasha  saw  that  she  did  this,  but  his  ill-humour 
got  the  upper  hand,  and  he  went  out  without  bidding 
his  mother  good-bye. 

He  hurried  along  the  street,  where  luggage  vans 
thundered  past,  while  at  his  heart  he  felt  examination- 
fright,  and  pity  for  the  mother  whose  feelings  he  had 
hurt. 

The  nearer  he  approached  the  grammar-school,  the 
slower  he  walked,  and  at  last  he  stopped  on  a  bridge 
and  watched  an  old  man  with  his  trousers  turned  up 
to  the  knees,  who  stood  in  the  water  fishing. 

He  wore  a  crumpled  cap,  and  his  long,  brown  boots 
were  placed  on  the  smooeh  sand  beside  a  tin  box 
containing  lob-worms,  and  a  little  pail  for  the  fish. 

The  old  fellow  noticed  Pasha  and  smiled  at  him 
repeatedly  as  if  he  were  an  old  acquaintance.  At 
last  he  waved  his  cap  and  asked  : 

"  Are  you  going  up  for  your  exam  ?  " 

It  took  Pasha  some  time  to  collect  his  thoughts 
before  he  could  answer. 

After  a  pause  he  said  "  Yes." 

The  old  man  nodded. 

"  In  Latin,  I  expect  ?  My  boy,  perhaps  you  know 
him,  Vasili  Kostrof,  he  is  going  up  too,  to-day." 

Pasha  Tumanof  saluted  and  went  on.  At  that 
moment  the  old  man  drew  out  of  the  water  a  silvery 


234     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

roach,  then,  bhnking  his  eyes  in  the  sun,  he  once  more 
threw  his  hne.  The  captured  fish  wriggled  about  in 
the  httle  pail,  splashing  the  sand  with  shining  drops 
of  water. 

As  he  walked  along.  Pasha  Tumanof  thought  that 
Vasili  Kostrof,  like  himself,  would  certainly  never  pass. 
He  knew  Kostrof,  a  lean,  lanky,  fifth-form  boy,  slow 
at  his  work,  and  always  ill  dressed,  who,  with  his  friend, 
Anatol  Daknevsky,  was  always  playing  billiards, 
though  this  was  against  the  rules. 

They  were  both  experts  at  the  game  and  almost 
entirely  got  their  living  by  it.  Daknevsky  would 
certainly  never  pass  ;  and  this  in  a  way  consoled 
him. 

On  reaching  the  grammar-school,  he  walked  along 
the  wide,  clean  corridor  to  the  fifth-form  class- 
room, where  he  at  once  spied  Kostrof  and  Daknevsky, 
who  were  talking  near  the  window. 

Pasha  went  up  to  them. 

"  I'll  give  him  twenty,"  Kostrof  was  saying  in  his 
deep,  bass  voice.  When  he  saw  Tumanof,  he  held  out 
his  hand  and  asked  cheerfully  : 

"  Are  you  in  a  funk  ?  "  and  he  laughed  good- 
humouredly. 

But  Pasha  was  not  in  a  good  humour.  Kostrof, 
with  his  exasperating  indifference  and  his  eternal  talk 
of  billiards,  seemed  most  repulsive  to  him.  Instead  of 
replying  to  Kostrof,  he  turned  to  Daknevsky  and 
asked  the  same  question  : 

"  Are  you  in  a  funk,  then  ?  " 

Daknevsky  stared. 

"  No,  why  should  I  be  ?  "  he  replied  carelessly,  and 
went    on    talking    to    Kostrof.      "  You   see,    Maslof 


PASHA  TUMANOF  235 

mayn't  play  as  well  as  you  do,  but  he  is  damnably 
persistent,  and  he'll  catch  you  up  at  last.  You 
oughtn't  to  give  Jiim  twenty." 

"  Oh,  but  I  shall  !  "  replied  Kostrof  confidently,  as 
he  lo6ked  across  Daknevsky  at  Tumanof  and  smiled 
at  something.  His  smile  was  good-tempered  but 
slightly  ironical. 

"  There's  nothing  to  be  frightened  about.  If  we  are 
ploughed,  we  are  ploughed,  worse  luck  !  " 

Daknevsky  watched  Pasha  attentively. 

"  What's  the  use  of  being  nervous  ?  "  he  said, 
shrugging  his  shoulders  contemptuously. 

But  Vasili  made  a  deprecating  gesture  as  he  said  : 

"  Don't !     Everybody  isn't  like  you  !  " 

A  weakly  person  with  a  grey  beard,  good-natured 
and  commonplace-looking,  hastened  towards  them. 
It  was  the  beadle. 

"  All  gentlemen  for  the  examination  !  "  he  cried, 
and  then  disappeared. 

■*'  Now  then,  gentlemen,  this  way  !  "  said  Kostrof, 
as  he  got  up  and  stretched  himself. 

They  lounged  along  the  corridor,  and  entered  the 
large  lecture-room  at  the  other  end,  where  the  examina- 
tion was  to  be  held. 

Again  Pasha  felt  terribly  nervous  and  his  knees 
shook.  He  drank  some  water  at  a  side  table  and 
thought  how  flat  and  tasteless  it  was. 

"  Now  then,  gentlemen,  be  quick,  please  !  "  cried 
the  beadle,  as  he  suddenly  reappeared  to  collect  the 
candidates.  His  head  shook  slightly,  as  he  rubbed  his 
bony  fingers. 

At  this  moment,  from  a  door  at  the  other  end  of  the 
corridor,  the  examiners  approached,  having  left  the 


236     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

conference-room.  Against  the  bright  window  they 
appeared  hke  two  sombre  shadows  with  flying  coat- 
tails.  Pasha  had  hardly  found  a  seat  in  the  lecture- 
room,  when  these  dignitaries  entered  and  took  up 
their  positions  at  the  large  table,  covered  with  a  red 
cloth  edged  with  gold. 


\ 


CHAPTER  VI 

The  examination  commenced. 

It  was  one  of  the  usual  stereotyped  sort,  beloved 
by  the  authorities,  the  senselessness  of  which  they 
admitted,  yet  which  they  could  not  discontinue. 

Masters  who  were  well  acquainted  with  the  extent  of 
their  pupils'  abilities,  summoned  them  in  turn  to  a 
table,  and  at  haphazard  asked  them  a  few  easy 
questions,  written  on  slips  of  paper,  which  each  pupil 
had  to  draw.  It  was  according  to  the  way  they 
answered  these  question  that  marks  were  given,  and 
not  according  to  the  opinion  that  each  master  had  long 
formed  of  the  capacities  of  each  pupil  under  his  care. 

As  one  by  one  the  pupils  were  being  called  up, 
Pasha  Tumanof  kept  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  examiners. 
Sometimes  he  felt  that  he  must  read  over  one  or  two 
passages  which  he  had  not  thoroughly  mastered  ;  but 
when  he  turned  over  the  leaves  nervously  to  find  the 
place,  a  thousand  other  passages  appeared  with  which 
he  was  totally  unfamiliar,  and  he  closed  the  book  in 
despair.  He  grew  hot  and  cold  by  turns  ;  yet  in 
another  minute  he  had  opened  the  book  again  to  find 
another  half-forgotten  passage. 

At  last  one  of  the  examiners  called  out : 

"  Kostrof  Vasili !  "  and  after  awhile  repeated  the 
summons. 


238     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

From  behind  Pasha,  Kostrof  suddenly  stepped 
forward  and  approached  the  table.  Pasha  Tumanof 
was  by  this  time  in  a  cold  perspiration.  It  would  be 
his  turn  next. 

"  Pavel  Tumanof  !  "  called  the  head  master. 

"  Tumanof  Pavel !  "  repeated  the  other  examiner. 

*'  Pasha  rose  mechanically,  dropped  his  book,  tried 
to  pick  it  up,  stumbled,  and  then  without  his  book 
walked  slowly  towards  the  table.  On  the  way  he 
bumped  against  Kostrof  who  was  returning  to  his 
seat.  The  latter  was  very  red,  but  smiled  at  Pasha 
as  he  passed.  He  had  evidently  been  solemnly 
ploughed. 

For  the  next  few  minutes  Pasha  was  conscious  of 
having  to  answer  certain  questions  and  that  the 
answers  which  he  gave  were  nonsensical.  He  gave 
up  all  hope,  feeling  as  if  he  could  not  breathe,  while 
endeavouring  to  prevent  his  knees  from  knocking 
together.  Only  at  the  end  was  he  able  to  collect 
his  thoughts  and  to  one  question  he  replied  quite 
correctly : 

"  Ablativus  Absolutus." 

"  So  that's  all  that  you  are  able  to  tell  us,  is  it  ?  '* 
observed  the  examiner  coldly,  as  Pasha  saw  him 
award  him  only  five  marks.  His  heart  sank  and  he 
very  nearly  shouted  out : 

"  How  dare  you  ?  " 

The  examiner  looked  at  the  head  master  who 
nodded,  and  then,  as  he  glanced  at  Pasha  over  his 
spectacles,  shook  his  head  slightly. 

"  You  can  go,"  said  the  examiner ;  then,  without 
looking  at  Pasha,  he  called  out ; 

"  Polonski  Mitrofan  !  " 


PASHA  TUMANOF  239 

Pasha's  fury  threatened  to  stifle  hun.  He  turned 
on  his  heel  mechanically  and  left  the  lecture-room, 
endeavouring  to  avoid  the  glances  of  his  fellow 
students.  In  tlie  corridor  he  saw  Kostrof  and 
Daknevsky  who  had  already  put  on  their  caps. 
Kostrof  stopped  him. 

"  Well,  how  did  you  get  on  ?  "  he  asked  with  a  kindly 
expression  in  his  dark  eyes. 

Pasha  tried  to  speak,  but  his  jaw  trembled  violently, 
and  he  could  only  wave  his  hand. 

"  Ah,  yes  !  "  said  Vasili  Kostrof. 

Pasha  went  on. 

"  I  say,  Tumanof !  "  called  Kostrof  after  him. 
.  Pasha  stopped. 

"  If  you  see  my  old  father  who  is  fishing  by  the 
bridge,  don't  let  him  think  .  .  .  you  know  what  I 
mean  !  " 

Kostrof  waved  his  hand  much  as  Pasha  had  done, 
but  in  a  droll  way,  and  he  laughed.  Daknevsky 
laughed  also. 

"  Well,  and  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  "  asked 
Pasha. 

"  Console  ourselves  with  a  game  of  billiards  !  '• 
laughed  Kostrof  as  they  went  away. 

Pasha  fetched  his  cap  which  was  hanging  up,  and 
then  he  suddenly  recollected  that  he  had  left  his  book 
behind  in  the  liecture-room,  but  with  an  impatient 
gesture,  as  if  nothing  mattered,  he  went  out  into  the 
street. 


CHAPTER  VII 

Bright  sunlight,  the  noise  of  the  traffic,  the  shrill 
sound  of  voices  and  of  twittering  sparrows  bewildered 
him  at  first,  and  then  exhilarated  him.  Yet  only  for  a 
moment ;  again  despair  and  fury  possessed  him,  and  in 
his  own  eyes  he  felt  utterly  worthless  and  insignificant. 
With  downcast  mien  he  walked  in  the  shade,  fearful 
that  others  from  his  face  would  see  that  he  had  been 
"  ploughed." 

On  reaching  the  bridge  he  at  once  observed  old 
Kostrof  sitting  beside  the  river  pulling  on  his  big 
jack-boots.  Thus,  lifting  one  foot  in  the  air  and 
looking  towards  the  bridge,  he  spied  Pasha,  and  gave 
him  a  friendly  nod. 

Pasha  stopped,  and,  as  if  to  give  vent  to  his  ill- 
humour,  maliciously  called  out  "  Vasili  hasn't  passed  !" 

The  old  fellow  let  his  foot  sink  in  the  sand,  and 
after  a  moment's  reflection,  burst  out  laughing. 
His  large  tootliless  mouth  became  distorted. 

Pasha  watched  him  in  amazement. 

"  Didn't  I  say  so  ?  "  exclaimed  Kostrof,  at  once 
pleased  and  annoyed.  "  I  said  to  him,  '  It's  that 
billiard-playing  of  yours  will  do  it.'  So  he  hasn't 
passed,  eh  ?  "  he  asked  eagerly. 

"  Not  a  doubt  about  it,"  replied  Pasha,  as  he 
came  down  from  the  bridge  to  the  shore.    He  looked 


PASHA  TUMANOF  241 

into  the  little  pail.  Five  roach  were  flapping  about  in 
it,  and  a  big  perch  with  red  fins. 

"  They  won't  bite  to-day,"  explained  Kostrof.  "  So 
he  has  really  been  ploughed  ?  " 

"Yes,  yes!" 

"  Has  he  really  ?  "  said  the  old  man,  as  he  drew  on 
his  other  boot.     "  And  what  about  you  ?  "  he  asked. 

Pasha  turned  scarlet. 

"  You,  too  ?     H'm.  .  .  ." 

Kostrof  stood  up,  and  taking  his  pail  and  rod  : 

"  Where  are  you  going  ?  Are  you  coming  my 
way  ?  " 

Pasha  ought  to  have  gone  straight  on,  but  for  some 
reason  he  could  not  leave  Kostrof.  Here  was  a  grown- 
up person  who  made  light  of  an  important  event 
which  distressed  and  infuriated  everybody  else.  It 
was  a  relief ;   his  heart  felt  lighter. 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  he  said. 

"  All  right  !  Come  along  !  "  said  the  old  man,  as, 
taking  off  his  cap,  he  looked  down  the  river  glittering 
in  the  sun.  Stroking  his  bald  head,  he  put  on  his 
cap  again,  and  repeated  : 

"  Come  along  !  " 

Their  way  lay  beside  the  river.  In  the  fine,  wet 
sand  were  little  spiral  shells  and  fragments  of  mussels 
with  seaweed  sticking  to  them.  Here  and  there  they 
passed  old  boats  with  black  sterns  embedded  in  the 
shore.  A  steamer  was  going  down  stream,  and  the 
snow-white  smoke  from  its  funnel  rose  up  as  a  pillar 
in  the  sunlight.  The  air  was  warm,  and  very  still. 
Tiny  waves  lapped  against  the  clean,  bright  sand. 
In  Kostrof's  pail  from  time  to  time  a  frsh  wriggled. 

As    Pasha    gazed    down    the    stream,    life    seemed 

Q 


242     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

utterly  dreary  ;  even  the  sunlight  had  lost  its  charm. 
Kostrof  took  a  different  view  of  things,  as,  shading 
his  eyes  with  his  hand,  he  watched  the  steamer,  and 
kicked  pebbles  into  the  water.  He  watched  the 
bright  waves  breaking  over  a  sandbank,  and  at  last 
sighed  for  sheer  pleasure,  exclaiming  : 

"  How  delightful !  " 

Pasha  was  silent.     Kostrof  looked  at  him  pityingly. 

"  I  say,  it's  delightful  here,  eh  ?  "  he  repeated. 
"  See  !  there's  a  swallow  !  What  is  there  to  look  so 
gloomy  about  ?  " 

Pasha  felt  furious  again.  It  was  if  the  old  man 
were  laughing  at  him.  He  remained  obstinately 
mute.     Kostrof  sighed  and  smiled. 

"  What  does  it  matter  if  you  haven't  passed  your 
exam  ?     Blow  the  whole  thing,  say  I !  " 

Pasha  gave  him  an  angry  look. 

'*  What's  the  good  of  being  so  upset  ?  "  asked  the 
old  man,  kindly. 

"  I  am  not  upset,"  growled  Pasha. 

"  Oh,  you  aren't  ?  I  thought  you  were.  When  I 
say,  '  blow  the  whole  thing,'  I  really  mean  it.  After 
all,  what  is  it  ?  You  haven't  passed  your  exam. 
My  boy  Vasili  hasn't  either.  What  does  it  matter  ? 
I'm  sure  that  my  boy  doesn't  care !  Did  you  see 
him  ?  " 

"  He  has  gone  to  play  billiards,"  said  Pasha. 

Kostrof  looked  pleased. 

"  There  !  You  see  !  And  why  does  he  do  that  ? 
Because  he  doesn't  care  a  hang." 

"  How  can  one  feel  like  that  ? "  asked  Pasha, 
looking  down  in  confusion. 

How  ?      Easily    enough.     Of   course,    to   get    a 


(( 


PASHA  TUMANOF  243 

diploma  and  an  appointment  later  on,  an  exam  like 
that  is  useful.     But  that's  not  the  point." 
"  Well,  but  what  is  ?  » 

"  Do  you  think  my  boy  couldn't  pass  out  of  the 
grammar-school  all  right  ?  Of  course  he  could ! 
And  out  of  a  hundred  other  schools  if  he  liked.  And 
so  could  you.  I've  got  a  friend,  a  little  fellow  like 
myself,  and  hump-backed  into  the  bargain.  We  go 
out  fishing  together.  He  has  told  me  all  about  your 
grammar-school  and  your  university.  His  name  is 
Svinkof.  Well,  this  Svinkof,  he  is  a  crammer,  and  he 
tells  me  that  the  biggest  blockheads  are  the  best  at 
learning.  He  is  about  right,  too.  One  doesn't  want 
much  sense  to  grind  away  at  Latin  conjugations, 
mathematics,  and  history.  To  stick  at  it,  that's  all 
that  is  wanted  ;  to  stick  at  it,  and  nothing  else. 
Besides,  such  things  are  of  no  use  to  one,  except  to 
get  a  good  appointment  of  some  sort  later  on.  One 
person  happens  to  want  such  an  appointment,  and  so 
he  fags  away  till  he  gets  it ;  another  prefers  a  river, 
and  beautiful  air  like  this.  What  need  has  he  to 
cram  himself  with  facts  and  figures  ?  Is  he  any  the 
worse  because  he  doesn't  ?  That's  how  I  look  at  it, 
see  ?  " 

With  half-closed  eyes,  Kostrof  surveyed  the  river, 
and  then  he  stopped. 

"  Here  we  part,"  he  said,  "  I  must  go  up  this 
street." 

Pasha  shook  hands  with  him,  saying  nothing. 

"  Well,  young  man,  don't  worry  yourself  too  much 
about  it.  It's  certainly  not  pleasant  to  be  ploughed, 
but  you  yourself  are  none  the  worse  for  that,  really. 
That's  how  I  look  at  it.     Vasili  has  got  his  billiards,  I 


244     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

have  got  the  river  and  the  fishes,  and  you  have  got 
something  else,  too.  If  cramming  isn't  our  Hne,  that 
doesn't  make  us  any  worse  than  others.  We  are  all 
God's  children  ;  each  one  gets  his  portion.  Well, 
good-bye  !     Hullo  !   there's  another  swallow  !  " 

Kostrof  waved  his  cap  gaily,  and  plodded  on  in  the 
direction  of  several  dirty  little  wooden  huts  which  lay 
scattered  along  the  shore. 

Left  alone,  Pasha  Tumanof  gazed  for  a  long  while 
at  the  water,  thinking  about  all  that  Kostrof  had 
said.  Even  though  he  may  not  have  fathomed  the 
deep  meaning  which  the  old  fisherman  had  put  into 
his  blunt  words,  he  yet  felt  lighter  of  heart.  The 
heaven  above  seemed  suddenly  more  spacious,  the 
waves  splashed  merrily  on  the  smooth  sand,  the  sun- 
light seemed  more  radiant,  and  everywhere  he  could 
hear  new,  joyous,  living  sounds,  of  which  till  now  he 
had  had  no  perception. 

Loud  voices  echoed  across  the  water,  where  men  in 
barges  were  shouting  cheerily  or  quarrelling ;  a  small 
steamboat  whistled  wildly ;  a  wave  rushed  up  the 
strand  and  then  coyly  retreated ;  swallows  darted  twit- 
tering through  the  blue  air,  sailing  aloft  to  lands  afar. 

Pasha  Tumanof  gazed  at  all,  large-eyed,  and  could 
hardly  believe  that  for  merely  getting  five  marks,  he 
had  reproached  himself  so  bitterly.  He  had  not 
passed  his  examination.  But  what  of  that  ?  Per- 
sonally it  made  no  difference  to  him ;  he  could  see 
and  hear  and  feel  just  as  before.  His  love  for  his 
mother  and  sisters  was  exactly  the  same ;  and,  even 
if  he  hated  the  head  master  and  the  others,  what  the 
deuce  did  it  matter  ?  Why  should  healthy,  jolly  Pasha 
Tumanof  worry  himself  ?     They  were  not  worth  it. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

This  mood,  however,  did  not  last  long,  but  gave  place 
to  a  disagreeable  consciousness  that  he  would  have 
to  tell  his  mother  what  had  happened.  It  was 
unpleasant  certainly,  but  not  so  dreadful  after  all. 
Word  for  word  he  would  repeat  to  her  all  that  Kostrof, 
that  splendid  old  philosopher,  had  said.  He  would 
tell  her  how  lightly  he  had  received  the  news  of  the 
failure  of  his  son  Vasili,  and  that  of  Daknevsky,  his 
friend.  Those  were  real  kindred  spirits  !  He  must 
make  friends  with  them,  great  friends.  Yet,  as 
Pasha  approached  his  home,  he  became  more  and 
more  uneasy. 

When  he  got  inside  the  gate,  his  heart  sank  and  his 
knees  trembled  just  as  they  had  done  during  the 
examination.  His  sisters  were  in  the  garden.  Sina, 
the  elder,  was  busy  making  jam,  and  Lydia,  the 
younger,  was  reading,  and  munching  an  apple. 

"  Here's  Pasha  !  "  she  said,  on  seeing  her  brother, 
as  she  laid  her  book  down  and  approached  him  with 
a  look  of  smiling  curiosity.  Sina  also  came  forward, 
with  a  spoonful  of  jam.  Both  seemed  bright  and 
happy ;  yet  Pasha  knew  that  they  would  look  sad 
and  vexed  if  he  told  them  the  truth. 

"  What  ?  How  quick  you've  been  I  Did  you 
pass  ?  "  they  asked  hurriedly. 


246     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

All  Kostrof's  fine  words  floated  vaguely  through 
Pasha's  mind,  as  he  blurted  out : 

"  Of  course  I  have  !     Where  is  mother  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  nice  boy  !  You  shall  have  a  spoonful  of 
jam  for  that  !  "  said  Sina. 

Lydia  danced  about,  clapping  her  hands. 

Pasha  pretended  to  be  pleased,  and  to  share  their 
glee,  as  he  licked  the  spoon,  never  noticing  what  jam 
it  was. 

"  Where  is  mother  ?  "  he  asked  again. 

"  She  is  gone  to  church,  but  she  will  be  back 
directly.     What  sort  of  exam  was  it  ?  "  asked  Lydia. 

"  Oh,  awfully  easy  !  I  must  go  and  fetch  my 
book,"  said  Pasha.  He  forgot  that  there  was  no 
book  to  fetch. 

"  You're  so  pleased  that  you  don't  know  what 
you're  doing  !  "  said  Sina,  laughing. 

Pasha  blushed,  and  appeared  confused. 

"  Well,  I  never  !  I  must  have  forgotten  it.  I'll  go 
and  have  a  wash.     I'm  rather  tired." 

"  Oho !  the  Sixth  Form  Boy ! "  cried  Lydia 
merrily. 

Pasha  smiled  a  somewhat  ghastly  smile  as  he 
hurried  away.  It  was  clear  to  him  now  that  he 
could  never  quote  Kostrof's  speech  to  his  mother. 
He  wondered  how  he  could  ever  have  been  impressed 
by  such  silly  talk.  Kostrof,  that  old  drunkard,  in 
his  brown  jack-boots,  and  those  billiard-playing  louts 
Vasili  and  Daknevsky  !  Much  good  they  were  !  Of 
course,  to  people  of  that  sort  it  didn't  matter  a  bit 
if  they  got  a  diploma,  or  not.  But  for  him.  Pasha 
Tumanof,  it  mattered  a  great  deal. 

His  room  was  dark  and  in  disorder.    The  bed  was 


PASHA  TUMANOF  247 

not  made,  and  books  lay  here  and  there  on  the  floor. 
As  he  stood  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  he  thought 
what  a  foolish  position  he  was  now  in  through  the  lie 
which  he  had  jtfst  told  to  his  sisters.  Life  was  hardly- 
worth  living  now. 

Schemes  of  all  sorts  suggested  themselves,  one 
more  fantastic  than  another  ;  yet  these  all  vanished 
when  they  reached  a  certain  point ;  that  is,  when  he 
thought  of  his  mother.  As  far  as  the  disagreeable 
consequences  of  his  failure  were  concerned,  he  could 
have  become  reconciled  to  these.  It  was  the  thought 
that  he  would  have  to  tell  his  mother,  and  read  in  her" 
face  unutterable  reproach  and  despair.  It  was  this 
which  terrified  him. 

Pasha  knew  that  it  was  not  on  a  diploma  that  his 
happiness  depended,  but  on  his  straightforward  deal- 
ings with  the  one  person  nearest  and  dearest  to  him 
in  the  whole  world — his  mother  ;  it  was  in  his  love 
and  care  for  her,  so  that  she  might  rejoice  in  possessing 
a  son  who  was  a  stay  and  comfort  to  her. 

But,  like  all  the  rest,  she  believed  that  it  was  his 
duty  to  win  excellent  credentials  for  himself,  and, 
with  such  credentials,  the  right  to  earn  more  money. 

Thus  instead  of  comforting  her  son,  she  would  only 
weep,  which,  more  than  anything  else,  would  serve  to 
torment  him  ;  and  Pasha  Tumanof,  who  could  have 
borne  the  mocking  reproaches  of  all,  utterly  lost 
heart  at  the  thought  of  his  mother's  tears,  since  she 
stood  nearer  to  him  than  anyone  else  in  the  world. 

Hence  the  conviction  arose  that  it  was  impossible 
to  live  any  longer.  Had  he  been  possessed  of  a 
strong  character,  he  would  liave  killed  himself  there 
and  then.     But  he  was  afraid  ;    less  afraid  of  death 


248     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

than  of  coming  to  any  final  decision.  Thus  he 
refused  to  beheve  that  all  was  at  an  end,  although  it 
was  equally  clear  to  him  that  after  being  at  school 
for  two  years  without  getting  his  remove,  he  would 
now  be  obliged  to  leave.  Suddenly  he  conceived  the 
idea  of  going  to  the  head  master  and  of  imploring  him 
to  grant  him  his  remove. 

"  Perhaps  I  have  been  lazy,"  he  said  to  himself, 
"  but  after  all,  the  question  of  my  remove  concerns 
no  one  but  myself,  my  mother,  Sina,  and  Lydia.  For 
them  it  is  a  matter  of  the  utmost  importajice.  Con- 
sequently, any  man  of  average  intelligence  must  see 
it  in  that  light  and  do  what  I  ask." 

To  Pasha  this  seemed  perfectly  clear  and  logical, 
and  he  determined  to  go  to  the  head  master  before 
his  mother  returned.  It  would  not  do,  however,  to 
go  past  his  sisters  until  she  came  back,  or  they  would 
at  once  guess  the  truth  ;  so  he  determined  to  get  out 
through  the  window  and  climb  over  the  fence.  On 
reaching  the  street,  he  could  hear  Lydia's  voice  in  the 
yard. 

"  Mother,  Pasha's  come  back.  He  has  passed, 
all  right." 

Then  he  knew  that  all  was  at  an  end,  and  that 
there  could  be  no  going  back.  Stunned  for  a  moment, 
he  afterwards  felt  braver  and  more  determined.  He 
crept  softly  along  the  side  of  the  fence,  bending  down, 
though  it  was  far  higher  than  his  head. 


CHAPTER  IX 

When  Pasha  got  back  to  the  school  the  examination 
of  his  form  was  over,  and  another  was  in  progress. 
The  head  master  was  fully  occupied,  as  Pasha  could 
see  on  looking  thi'ough  the  glass  door  of  the  lecture- 
room.  There  stood  the  red  table  at  which  the 
examiners  were  still  seated.  The  classical  master 
who  had  given  Pasha  his  five  marks  was  not  present. 
Probably  he  was  in  the  masters'  room,  thought 
Pasha  ;   and  he  resolved  to  see  him  first,  if  possible. 

With  beating  heart  he  accordingly  went  to  the 
masters'  room,  and  asked  the  writing  master,  who 
was  passing,  if  he  would  tell  his  colleague  Alexandro- 
vitch  to  come  outside. 

"  What  do  you  want  with  him  ?  "  asked  the  writing 
master  as,  without  waiting  for  an  answer,  he  flung 
the  door  open,  and  called  out : 

"  Alexandrovitch  !  " 

Through  the  open  door  Pasha  could  see  the  two 
long  windows,  the  corner  of  a  table  and  clouds  of  blue 
tobacco-smoke  in  which  figures  moved  like  shadows. 
Alexandrovitch' s  little  wooden  figure  with  his  pointed 
beard  and  long,  sleek  hair,  emerged  from  the  mist. 
On  reaching  the  door  he  looked  about  him.  "  Here's 
somebody  who  wants  to  see  you,"  said  the  writing 
master,  as  he  went  away. 


250     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

Alexandrovitch  looked  at  Pasha  with  his  cold,  hard 
eyes,  and  came  out  into  the  corridor. 

"  What  do  you  want  ? "  he  asked,  holding  his 
hands  behind  his  coat-tails. 

"  Alexander  Ivanovitch,  you  gave  me  only  five 
marks,  and  this  is  my  second  year  in  the  class,  so  I 
shall  have  to  leave." 

Pasha  stammered  out  this,  while  attempting  to 
cover  his  confusion  by  smiling.  The  master  looked 
away,  and  the  expression  in  his  eyes  was  dull  and 
callous  while  Pasha  was  speaking.  Then  in  deliberate 
tones  he  replied,  rocking  to  and  fro  on  his  heels  as  he 
made  each  syllable  tell. 

"  You  are  no  longer  a  child,  and  must  be  aware  to 
what  laziness  leads.  The  last  exam  should  have 
taught  you  that  much.  I  gave  you  the  marks 
that  you  deserved.  My  colleagues  are  of  the  same 
opinion  as  myself.  You  ought  to  have  been  more 
industrious." 

Alexandrovitch  looked  Pasha  in  the  face,  and 
turned  towards  the  door. 

"  Alexander  Ivanovitch  !  "  cried  Pasha. 

"  No  !  no  !  That  will  do  !  "  said  the  other  curtly, 
as  he  closed  the  door. 

Pasha  ground  his  teeth  with  rage.  He  longed  to 
rush  at  the  master,  yet  stood  at  the  window,  dazed 
and  irresolute,  staring  at  the  street. 

The  beadle  now  came  along  ;  the  same  little  fussy 
man  who  had  summoned  the  candidates  to  attend 
the  examination. 

"  So  you  haven't  passed,  Tumanof  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  No,"  replied  Pasha  in  a  low  voice. 

The  man  shook  his  head  and  sighed. 


PASHA  TIBIANOF  251 

"  How  sad  for  your  mother  !  What  shall  you  do 
now  ?  "  he  asked  sympathetically. 

"  I  shall  go  and  see  the  head  master,"  replied  Pasha. 

"  That's  hardly  any  good.  Anyhow,  you  might 
try.  '  Ah  !  here  he  comes  !  "  he  added  in  a  whisper, 
buttoning  up  his  uniform. 

The  masters  in  a  group  were  now  leaving  the 
lecture-room,  and  again  they  appeared  like  blue 
silhouettes  with  long  flapping  coat-tails  against  the 
bright  window. 

Leading  the  way  and  holding  the  class-list  in  his 
hand,  came  the  head  master,  Vladimir  Stepanovitch 
Vosnesyenski,  a  tall,  powerfully  built  man,  with  a  long 
beard,  and  blue  spectacles. 

On  seeing  Pasha  he  went  up  to  him,  and  said, 
without  looking  at  him  : 

"  You  will  have  to  leave  the  school." 

He  was  quite  a  good-natured  man,  but  a  man  of 
routine,  a  pedant  above  all  things.  Pasha  Tumanof 
knew  very  well  that  he  would  have  to  leave,  yet  the 
head  master's  cold,  decisive  words  seemed  to  freeze 
his  very  soul. 

"  Vladimir  Stepanovitch  !  "  exclaimed  Pasha. 

But  the  head  master  pretended  not  to  hear  him, 
and  continued  : 

"  We  can  give  you  your  Fifth  Form  certificate,  but 
of  course  you  won't  get  your  remove.  You  ought  to 
have  worked." 

"  I  will  work,"  whimpered  Pasha,  like  a  little  boy. 

"  It  is  too  late,  now,"  said  the  head  master  calmly. 
In  his  day  he  had  dismissed  many  scholars. 

"  You  should  have  thought  of  the  consequences. 
The  certificate  .  .  ." 


252     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  Please,  sir  .  .  .  my  mother,"  mm*mured  Pasha. 

"  You'll  get  the  certificate  in  the  office,"  said  the 
head  master,  as  he  frowned  and  passed  on. 

Pasha  hurried  after  him. 

When  he  saw  the  head  master,  it  had  been  his 
intention  to  tell  him  as  briefly  as  possible  exactly  how 
matters  stood,  and  to  endeavour  to  convince  him. 
He  thought  that  he  would  have  to  deal  with  his 
heart ;  but  the  approach  to  this  was  barred  by 
various  conventional  views  and  inflexible  rules  con- 
cerning the  duties  of  a  pedagogue.  So  the  words 
that  Pasha  wanted  to  say  never  crossed  his  lips,  and, 
with  tears  in  his  eyes,  he  could  only  just  murmur : 

"  Please,  sir  .  .  ." 

Despite  his  long  scholastic  career  the  head  master 
had  kept  his  kindly  heart,  and  he  was  really  sorry  for 
the  young  fellow.  But,  as  he  had  not  the  least  idea 
of  relaxing  or  in  any  way  modifying,  the  hard-and- 
fast  rule,  he  sought  by  this  compromise  of  giving  the 
certificate,  to  extricate  himself  from  a  somewhat 
embarrassing  position.  Affecting  not  to  hear,  he 
hurriedly  entered  the  masters'  room. 

Pasha  was  left  alone  in  the  corridor,  grinding  his 
teeth  with  rage.  To  avoid  another  encounter  with 
the  beadle,  whose  futile  sympathy  would  only  increase 
his  fury,  he  hurried  along  the  passage,  and  seizing  his 
cap  and  cloak,  walked  out  into  the  street  determined 
to  revenge  himself  upon  these  persons  who  had  thus 
ignored  his  entreaties  and  his  tears. 


CHAPTER  X 

At  the  corner  of  the  main  street  there  was  a  large 
shop  for  the  sale  of  weapons  and  firearms.  Displayed 
in  its  two  wide  windows  were  rows  of  guns  and  rifles 
of  every  sort,  while,  symmetrically  arranged  on 
shelves  covered  with  green  baize,  one  could  see  pistols, 
revolvers,  hunting-knives,  and  boxes  of  cartridges. 
Interspersed  with  these  were  stuffed  birds  and  wild 
animals  that  showed  their  fierce,  gleaming  teeth  to 
passers-by. 

After  school  hours  the  schoolboys  always  stood 
round  the  windows  of  this  shop  in  crowds,  fascinated 
by  the  sight  of  these  fearsome  weapons,  and  dreaming 
of  terrific  encounters  with  the  grim  beasts  on  which 
till  then  they  had  never  set  eyes. 

Pasha  Tumanof  often  stopped  to  gaze  at  the 
contents  of  this  shop.  The  firearms  specially  attracted 
him.  There  was  a  double-barrelled  pistol  which  he 
longed  to  possess  ;  indeed,  he  had  been  saving  up 
his  money  to  buy  it.  It  was  marked  at  twenty-five 
roubles,  yet  he  had  at  present  only  got  twelve.  Every 
time  that  he  passed  the  shop  he  anxiously  looked  in 
to  discover  if  it  were  sold  ;  nor  did  he  feel  easy  until 
he  had  seen  it  lying  in  its  usual  place. 

On  leaving  the  school,  Pasha  walked  straight  to 
the  shop  and  gazed  in. 


254     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

There  lay  his  favourite  pistol.  In  spite  of  his 
gloomy  mood,  it  was  a  pleasure  to  him  to  look  at 
its  smooth,  straight  barrel  and  delicate  trigger.  Yet 
directly  he  was  aware  of  this  pleasurable  interest  he 
felt  ashamed  of  it.  At  a  time  like  this,  what  was 
a  pistol  to  him  ? 

"  I  shall  never  be  able  to  buy  it  now,"  he  thought. 

His  heart  sank.  Recovering  himself,  however,  he 
frowned,  and  then  pushing  the  door  open  entered  the 
shop.  Only  the  salesman  and  the  young  woman  at 
the  cash-desk  were  in  it.  Pasha  knew  the  salesman 
quite  well  by  sight,  as  he  had  often  noticed  him  in 
the  shop  window  when  he  was  polishing  the  firearms 
with  chamois  leather ;  but  he  had  never  seen  the 
cashier  before.  To  hide  his  nervousness,  he  ap- 
proached the  counter  with  an  exaggerated  air  of  easy 
self-possession.  The  shopman  looked  at  him  gravely 
and,  as  Pasha  thought,  suspiciously  over  the  rims 
of  his  spectacles. 

"  What  is  it  you  wish  for  ?  "  he  asked. 

Pasha  suddenly  thought  that  being  a  grammar- 
school  boy,  no  firearms  could  be  sold  to  him.  He 
turned  very  pale. 

"  I  want  a  pistol,"  he  said  nervously. 

Without  speaking  the  shopman  opened  several 
drawers.  At  that  moment  Pasha  formed  a  calm  and 
deliberate  resolve.  He  felt  that  he  would  have  to 
kill  not  only  the  head  master,  but  also  the  classical 
master ;  so  that,  instead  of  a  pistol,  it  would  be 
better  to  buy  a  revolver.  "  Besides,  it  might  hang 
fire,"  thought  Pasha  quite  calmly  and  collectively  ; 
"  then  I  should  look  such  a  fool."  So  he  hastily 
corrected  himself  by  saying  : 


PASHA  TUMANOF  255 

"  No,  I  should  like  to  see  a  revolver,  please." 

The  shopman  placed  the  case  of  pistols  aside  and 
opened  another,  containing  revolvers. 

"  At  about  what  price  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  About  ten  roubles,"  replied  Pasha,  who  was 
somewhat  puzzled,  having  never  bought  firearms 
before.  The  shopman  placed  three  or  four  revolvers 
before  him  on  the  counter.  Pasha  took  up  one  of 
them  and  examined  it  with  the  air  of  a  connoisseur. 
He  shuddered,  and  then  took  up  another. 

"  I  suppose  there's  no  flaw  in  them  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  We  only  sell  first-class  goods,"  was  the  off-hand 
rejoinder. 

"  And  how  ...  I  mean  ...  it  carries  well  ?  " 
asked  Pasha,  with  childish  curiosity.  He  wished  that 
the  shopman  would  be  more  talkative. 

"  We  guarantee  it  to  kill  at  sixty  paces,"  said  the 
shopman  dryly. 

If  he  had  seen  Pasha's  face  as  he  said  this,  he  must 
obviously  have  guessed  that  something  was  wrong. 
But  he  was  an  old  hand  at  selling  firearms.  More 
than  once,  after  selling  a  revolver,  he  had  read  para- 
graphs in  the  papers  next  day  about  suicides  or 
horrible  murders.  He  was  thoroughly  used  to  all 
this  and  invariably  praised  his  death-dealing  wares. 
When  he  sold  a  revolver,  it  never  occurred  to  him  that 
it  might  be  used  by  some  miserable  suicide  or  desperate 
criminal.  What  he  thought  of  was  the  percentage 
he  would  get  by  such  a  sale.  He  was  quite  a  good, 
kind-hearted  man  and  an  excellent  father,  devoted 
to  his  wife  and  children.  Just  for  this  reason  he  was 
more  interested  in  the  sale  of  the  revolver  than  in 
the  person  to  whom  he  sold  it.  Of  Pasha's  agitation 
he  saw  nothing  whatever. 


256     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  I'll  have  this  one,"  said  Pasha  with  quivering 
lips. 

The  shopman  boAved  and  replaced  the  other 
revolvers  in  their  case. 

"  Shall  I  wrap  it  up  for  you,  sir  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Er  .  .  .  yes  .  .  .  no  .  .  ."    stammered    Pasha. 

"  As  you  like,  sir.     Shall  you  want  any  cartridges  ?  " 

"  Yes,  yes,  of  course." 

Pasha  had  not  thought  of  these  till  then. 

"  Would  you  like  me  to  load  it  ?  Or  will  you  take 
a  box  of  cartridges  ?  " 

"  Yes,  load  it,  please,"  replied  Pasha,  suddenly 
aware  that  he  did  not  know  how  to  do  so  himself. 

The  shopman  shook  out  some  of  the  pretty  yellow 
cartridges  on  to  the  counter,  and  having  adroitly 
loaded  the  revolver  he  handed  it  to  Pasha. 

"  Is  there  anything  else  that  you  require  ?  " 

Pasha  shook  his  head. 

"  That  will  be  ten  roubles,  twelve  kopecks,"  said 
the  man,  pointing  to  the  cash-desk. 

Pasha  thrust  the  revolver  in  his  pocket  and  went 
to  the  desk. 

The  anaemic  girl  in  charge  took  the  money,  and 
returned  thirty-eight  kopecks  to  him,  watching  him 
closely  as  he  went  out.  She  was  quite  young,  and, 
therefore,  kinder  and  more  impressionable  than  the 
salesman.     When  Pasha  had  gone,  she  said  : 

"  What  a  strange-looking  boy  that  was  !  I  believe 
he's  going  to  shoot  himself." 


"  Who  knows  ?  "  said  the  shopman  carelessly. 
"  What  is  the  time,  Maria  Alexandrovna  ?  " 

"  Just  one  o'clock,"  replied  the  cashier  as  she 
glanced  at  her  little  watch. 


PASHA  TUMANOF  257 

*'  I'm  worried  about  my  boy  Nicholas,"  said  the 
shopman.  "  He's  got  scarlet  fever,  or  something  of 
the  kind.  I  wish  it  was  three  o'clock  !  My  son  may 
be  dead  for  all  I  know  !  It's  a  horrible  thing  to  have 
to  stop  here  like  this  !  " 

He  went  to  the  counter  and  put  away  the  things 
that  he  had  shown  Pasha. 

"  They  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  buy  revolvers," 
said  the  girl.  She  was  still  thinking  of  Pasha.  "  I 
am  certain  that  he'll  do  himself  some  harm.  What 
a  face  he  had,  to  be  sure  !  To  sell  such  things  to 
people  like  that  ought  to  be  forbidden." 

"  There  are  no  rules  of  that  sort,'*  replied  the 
shopman  dryly.     He  was  thinking  of  his  sick  boy. 


CHAPTER  XI 

"  Where  is  the  head  master  ?  "  asked  Pasha  on 
reaching  the  entrance-hall  of  the  school. 

"  He's  at  home.  Just  got  back  from  the  exam. 
Probably  in  his  study,"  replied  the  old  pock-pitted 
janitor,  yawning.     He  was  an  ex-soldier. 

"  Go  and  tell  him  that  I  want  to  see  him,  Ivanitch." 

"  But  very  likely  he  is  busy,"  said  the  man. 

"  Never  mind.     It's  most  important." 

"  I  don't  know  .  .  .  You  should  ask  one  of  the 
school  servants." 

Pasha  started  back. 

*'  No,  no.  I  must  see  him  in  private.  I've  some- 
thing to  ask  him." 

"  You  didn't  pass,  eh  ?  "  asked  the  janitor,  who 
was  used  to  such  requests. 

"  Well,  no  !  " 

"  All  right !  I'll  tell  him,"  mumbled  the  old  fellow, 
as  he  tramped  along  to  the  head  master's  private 
residence.  Pasha  remained  in  the  hall.  He  was 
trembling  violently,  yet,  curiously  enough,  he  had 
quite  forgotten  the  revolver.  His  one  wish  was  to 
make  a  final  appeal  to  the  head  master,  feeling  yet 
certain  that  such  appeal  would  not  be  granted. 

The  soldier  returned. 

*'  Will  you  come  this  way  to  the  study  ?  "  he  said. 


PASHA  TUMANOF  259 

Pasha  took  off  his  cap  and  goloshes,  and  walked 
into  the  dark  hall  of  the  head  master's  house,  from 
which  a  door  led  to  the  study.  Pasha  knew  the  study 
well.  It  w£fs  scantily  furnished.  The  two  large 
windows  looked  on  to  the  street ;  on  the  writing-table 
there  was  a  bronze  letter-weight,  the  model  of  a  wild 
boar,  and  papers  with  blue  covers  and  white  labels. 

Vladimir  Stepanovitch  Vosnesjenski  sat  sideways 
at  the  table  with  his  back  to  the  door.  His  head  was 
on  one  side,  and  he  was  writing  something,  while  on 
the  edge  of  the  table  lay  a  half-smoked  cigarette. 

As  Pasha  entered,  the  head  master  looked  round, 
and  his  face  grew  dark.  He  was  sorry  for  the  boy, 
it  is  true,  but  at  the  same  time  he  could  not  under- 
stand Pasha's  inability  to  see  what  to  every  one  else 
was  perfectly  clear,  viz.,  that  he  was  powerless  to  go 
against  the  rules  and  give  him  his  remove.  So,  kind- 
hearted  though  he  was,  he  now  felt  annoyed  with 
this  Pavel  Tumanof,  whom  he  thought  a  lazy  fellow 
who  might  have  worked  if  he  had  chosen. 

"  What  have  you  got  to  say  to  me  ?  "  he  asked 
sharply,  without  looking  at  Pasha. 

"  If  you  please,  sir  .  .  .  well,  I  have  come  to  ask 
you  to  give  me  my  remove,"  said  Pasha. 

*'  I  can't  do  that ! "  replied  the  head  master, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  I  mean  to  work,"  said  Pasha  plaintively.  The 
tears  were  in  his  eyes,  and  he  thought  to  himself, 
"  All  the  better  if  I  can  cry  a  bit."  Nevertheless, 
he  strove  to  restrain  those  tears. 

"  Oh,  good  gracious  !  "  exclaimed  the  head  master. 
He  really  pitied  the  lad,  yet  the  expression  on  his 
face  was  severe  and  bored. 


260     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  Vladimir  Stepanovitch,  if  I  don't  pass  my  gram- 
mar-school exams  I  shan't  be  able  to  go  to  the 
university." 

"  Of  course  not."  Involuntarily  the  head  master 
smiled. 

"  I'm  making  a  dreadful  muddle  of  it !  "  thought 
Pasha  to  himself. 

The  head  master  took  a  couple  of  whiffs  at  his 
cigarette,  inhaled  the  smoke,  raised  his  eyebrows, 
and  then  carefully  replaced  the  cigarette  at  the  edge 
of  the  table. 

"  Look  here,  Tumanof,"  he  said  sternly,  "  I  know 
very  well  that  your  failure  to  pass  will  place  you,  and 
especially  your  relations,  in  a  most  unpleasant 
position.  I  have  nothing  against  you  so  far  as  I  am 
concerned,  nor  has  any  one  of  my  colleagues.  But 
you  have  your  duties  to  perform  just  as  we  have 
ours,  and  it  was  your  duty  to  work.  That  is  what 
you  have  not  done,  and  for  that  reason  you  have 
been  dismissed  from  the  school.  It  is  not  we,  person- 
ally, who  dismiss  you,  for  we  are  only  officials ;  and 
if  we  were  not  here,  others  would  have  to  dismiss 
you.  As  regards  myself,  I  am  sorry  for  you ;  and 
if  it  depended  on  me  I  should  have  given  you  your 
remove,  even  without  testing  your  abilities.  But  it 
is  our  duty  only  to  pass  those  boys  who  by  study 
have  proved  themselves  to  be  proficient,  and  those 
who  know  nothing  we  are  obliged  to  dismiss,  and  if 
we  omitted  to  do  so,  we  should  ourselves  incur 
punishment.  Thus,  we  have  dismissed  you ;  and 
you  have  no  right  to  complain,  or  question  our 
decision.  In  short,  I  can  do  nothing.  I  have  made 
it  quite  clear,  have  I  not  ?  " 


PASHA  TUMANOF  261 

The  head  master  looked  at  Pasha  through  his 
spectacles. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Vladimir  Stepanovitch  !  "  ex- 
claimed Pasha,  feeling  as  if  his  whole  being  were 
falling  into  an  abyss.  The  head  master  turned  round 
angrily. 

"  What's  the  good  of  coming  to  me  like  this  ?  I 
cannot  do  it !  Do  you  understand  ?  I  cannot  do 
it!" 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  asked  Pasha  mechani- 
cally. 

If  the  head  master  had  sympathized  with  him  in 
his  trouble,  or  had  given  him  advice  of  some  sort, 
Pasha  Tumanof  would  probably  have  gone  home  ; 
but  this  worthy  official  never  reflected  that  his  most 
important  task  was  to  make  his  pupils  happy.  All 
that  he  thought  of  was  to  discharge  his  duties  as  a 
head  master,  and  to  provide  pupils  who  obtained  the 
requisite  number  of  marks  with  diplomas.  From  this 
it  must  not  be  assumed  that  he  was  harsh  and  unfeel- 
ing. The  real  reason  was,  that  the  educational 
system  did  not  aim  at  making  pupils  good  and  happy 
men,  but  at  enabling  them  to  fight  for  the  best  positions 
in  the  world.  As,  however.  Pasha  could  know  nothing 
of  all  this,  and  did  not  see  that  the  head  master's 
words  were  the  outcome  of  an  abstract  theory,  and 
not  dictated  by  personal  malice,  it  was  impossible 
for  him  to  feel  anything  but  blind  hatred  for  the 
head  master,  which  was  only  increased  by  the  tone 
of  officialdom  which  the  latter  had  assumed. 

Pasha  now  recollected  that  he  had  got  the  revolver. 
Everything  seemed  quite  clear  and  simple,  and  the 
climax   absolutely   inevitable.     He   thrust    his    hand 


262     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

into  his  pocket,  as  with  flashing  eyes  he  said  threaten- 
ingly : 

"  Now  then,  give  me  my  remove,  Vladimir  Stepano- 
vitch,  or  else  .  .  ." 

The  head  master  stared  at  him  in  amazement,  and 
turning  pale,  he  rose  slowly  and  edged  away  from  the 
table. 

"  What  .  .  .  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  .  .  ." 

Only  then  was  Pasha  aware  that  he  had  the  revolver 
in  his  hand.  On  the  head  master's  face  there  was 
a  look  of  abject  terror. 

A  sudden  fit  of  mad  merriment  seized  Pasha,  as 
with  a  hideous  laugh  he  pointed  the  revolver  straight 
at  the  master's  eyes. 

"  My  God  !  My  God  !  "  shrieked  the  latter,  as  he 
held  up  his  hands  to  protect  himself  from  the  barrel 
of  the  revolver.  Then  by  a  violent  effort  he  managed 
to  pass  Pasha  and  rushed  towards  the  door,  shouting  : 

"  Oh,  God  !     Oh,  God  !     Help  !     Help  !  » 

It  was  this  shrieking  that  roused  Pasha  to  a  frenzy 
which  distressed  and  yet  exhilarated  him.  To  himself, 
now,  he  seemed  horrible  and  monstrous,  and  in  the 
full  enjoyment  of  this  new  sensation,  he  followed  his 
victim  and  fired  at  him  in  the  doorway,  hitting  him 
twice  in  the  back.  Through  the  smoke,  which  to 
him  appeared  horribly  dense,  he  could  see  the  master 
stagger  backwards  against  the  wall,  throw  up  his 
arms,  and  fall  full  length  at  Pasha's  feet.  His 
spectacles  tumbled  off,  and  his  kindly  eyes  stared 
hideously  at  the  ceiling. 

But  now  Pasha  saw  and  heard  nothing.  Intoxicated, 
as  it  were,  by  a  gust  of  hysterical  fury,  he  rushed 
out  into  the  passage  towards  the  room  of  the  assistant 


PASHA  TUMANOF  263 

masters.  The  door  was  open.  When  Pasha  appeared 
they  all  looked  round,  instantly  aware  that  something 
terrible  had  happened. 

Pasha  perceived  how  they  all  fled  before  him,  and 
in  the  height  of  his  mad  frenzy  he  now  imagined 
himself  to  be  a  giant.  He  looked  about  him  till  he 
detected  Alexandroviteh,  and  then  fired.  He  hardly 
heard  the  report,  but  saw  through  the  smoke  how 
the  master  fell  under  the  table.  Then  he  turned 
sharply  round,  and  dashed  headlong  down  the  stairs, 
ten  steps  at  a  time,  as  it  seemed  to  him.  When  he  ran 
out  through  the  entrance-hall,  he  caught  a  glimpse 
of  the  janitor's  white  face,  as  the  man  sprang  aside 
in  alarm. 

He  had  no  recollection  of  how  he  leaped  into  the 
droshky  and  subsequently  reached  the  office  of  the 
Police  Inspector.  He  did  not  recover  himself ,  until 
the  secretary  said  to  him  : 

"  Poor  boy  !  " 


THE  DOCTOR 


THE  DOCTOR 


CHAPTER  I 

Accompanied  by  a  taciturn  policeman,  the  Doctor 
went  through  empty  streets  where  the  wet  pavement 
reflected  his  long  figure  as  in  a  dim,  broken  glass. 
Behind  the  walls  bare  boughs  were  tossing  in  the 
wind  that  howled  round  iron  roofs  and  dashed  icy 
raindrops  like  splinters  in  the  face.  When  for  a 
short  while  its  fury  abated  and  there  was  silence, 
a  sound  of  distant  firing  could  be  distinctly  heard; 
rifle-shots,  singly,  and  then  again  in  rapid  succession. 
Southwards,  behind  the  dark  shadow  of  the  cathedral 
there  was  a  faint  glow  which  lit  up  the  low  hanging 
clouds,  making  them  look  like  huge  dun-coloured 
reptiles. 

"  Whereabouts  are  they  shooting  ? "  asked  the 
Doctor,  thrusting  his  hands  up  his  sleeves  and  looking 
down  at  his  feet. 

"  That  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  policeman,  but 
from  the  tone  of  his  voice  the  Doctor  perceived  that 
he  knew  and  would  not  say. 

"  Is  it  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town  ?  "  persisted  the 
Doctor,  clenching  his  teeth  with  rage. 

"  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure,"  said  the  man  in  the 
same  tone.     "  We  really  must  go  faster,  sir." 


268     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  Wliat  a  damned  idiot !  "  thought  the  Doctor, 
quickening  his  pace. 

Again  the  wind  blew  in  gusts  ;  and  again,  when 
there  was  a  lull,  the  same  distant  sound  of  firing  was 
audible. 

"  But  who  shot  the  Chief  Constable  ?  "  asked  the 
Doctor,  as  he  listened  anxiously  to  the  firing. 

"  One  of  those  Jews,  probably,"  replied  the  police- 
man in  the  same  callous  tone. 

"  With  what  ?  " 

"  With  a  revolver.     He  shot  and  wounded  him." 

"  Why  ?  " 

"  That  I  don't  know." 

This  curt,  monotonous  reply  made  all  further 
questioning  futile.  The  Doctor  literally  felt  as  if  his 
fury  would  choke  him.  He  was  convinced  that  the 
Police  Superintendent  had  been  wounded  by  one  of  a 
Jewish  gang,  a  secret  Self-Defence  Society,  upon 
which  the  Cossacks  had  been  ordered  to  fire.  He 
pictured  to  himself  a  disorderly  band  of  terrified  men, 
powerless  and  badly  armed,  who  were  being  gradually 
massacred  with  pitiless  precision.  So  revolting  to 
him  was  the  scene,  and  so  clearly  did  he  seem  to  see  it, 
that  he  longed  to  stop  suddenly  and  say  to  the 
policeman  roughly  : 

"  Well,  let  him  die  like  a  dog  !  A  dog  deserves  a 
dog's  death  !  " 

But  he  managed  to  control  himself. 

"  I  have  no  right  to  behave  like  that,"  he  thought. 
"  I  am  a  doctor,  not  a  judge."  Although  this  reason 
seemed  irrefutable,  he  furthermore  reflected,  "  Besides, 
one  can't  hit  a  man  that's  down." 

The  policeman  walked  close  behind  him,  and  to  be 


THE  DOCTOR  269 

followed  by  this  black,  monotonous  figure  became  at 
last  intolerable. 

"  I  think  they  might  have  sent  me  horses,"  he  said 
at  last.  His  voice  trembled,  and  he  was  amazed  at 
having  made  such  a  foolish  protest. 

"  The  horses  are  all  engaged.  In  the  town  they 
are  looking  everywhere  for  doctors.  I  hoped  to  be 
able  to  fetch  you  in  a  droshky,  sir,  but  there's  not  a 
damned  one  to  be  got.  We  must  go  a  bit  quicker, 
sir!" 


CHAPTER  II 

Several  policemen  and  two  mounted  Cossacks  were 
stationed  in  front  of  the  Chief  Constable's  house.  The 
horses  tossed  their  heads,  and  their  tails  were  blown 
sideways  by  the  wind.  With  their  rifles  slung  across 
their  saddles,  the  Cossacks  sat  there  motionless,  each 
looking  as  if  he  were  not  a  living  man  but  an  inani- 
mate part  of  the  horse.  As  the  Doctor  approached,  the 
policeman  silently  made  way  for  him.  A  sergeant  in 
a  grey  cloak  saluted  and  asked  : 

"  What  about  the  doctor  ?     Have  you  got  one  ?  *' 

"  Yes,  I've  got  one,"  was  the  policeman's  triumphant 
answer,  as  he  ran  forward  and  opened  the  door. 

"  This  way,  if  you  please,  sir  !  " 

The  hall  was  in  darkness,  but  from  a  side-room  a 
streak  of  light  fell  across  the  floor.  A  fat  inspector 
came  out  of  this  room,  in  which  other  policemen  and 
a  smart-looking  young  officer  could  be  seen. 

"  Well,  have  you  got  a  doctor  ?  "  asked  the  police- 
sergeant. 

"  Yes,"  replied  the  sergeant  in  the  grey  cloak. 

The  Doctor  said  nothing,  but  frowned  as  one  who, 
perplexed  and  helpless,  had  been  suddenly  involved 
in  an  unpleasant  business  and  who  saw  no  way  out 
of  it.  For  a  long  while  he  fidgeted  with  his  muffler 
before  taking  off  his  overcoat  and  goloshes.     Then 


THE  DOCTOR  271 

he  removed  his  glasses,  which  he  proceeded  to  polish 
with  his  handkerchief  with  unnecessary  slowness  and 
deliberation. 

Just  at  this  moment  he  recollected  how  in  his 
student-days  he  was  once  obliged  to  enter  a  house 
where  shortly  before  he  had  received  his  conge,  owing 
to  some  misunderstanding  or  other.  How  ashamed 
he  felt !  To  walk  almost  caused  him  physical  pain. 
Such  were  his  sensations  now.  He  coughed  nervously, 
raised  his  eyebrows,  looked  over  the  rims  of  his  glasses, 
and  awkwardly  entered  the  lighted  room. 

"  Where  is  the  patient  ?  "  he  asked  irritably,  with- 
out looking  at  anyone.  Indeed  he  strove  to  avoid  the 
expectant  glances  directed  towards  him.  He  only 
saw  that  the  officer  of  gendarmes  was  the  same  one 
who  shortly  before  had  searched  his  own  house. 

"  This  way,  doctor !  This  way,  please,"  said  the 
Inspector  hoarsely. 

A  graceful  woman  hurried  forward,  her  feet  be- 
coming entangled  in  the  folds  of  her  dress.  She  had 
large  black  eyes  that  looked  the  larger  for  being  tear- 
stained.  Such  was  her  beauty  that  the  Doctor 
involuntarily  looked  at  her  in  admiration  and  surprise. 

"  Platon  Mikhailovitch,  where  is  the  doctor  ?  "  she 
asked  in  a  voice  choked  with  emotion. 

"  Here  is  the  doctor,  Emma  Vasilievna !  Calm 
yourself !  It  will  be  all  right  now,  and  we  shall 
manage  to  set  him  on  his  feet,"  said  the  Inspector  in 
that  kindly,  familiar  tone  which  stalwart  men  often 
adopt  when  speaking  to  beautiful  women. 

Seizing  the  doctor  by  both  hands,  she  looked  him 
full  in  the  face  with  wide-opened  eyes  and  said  : 

"  For   God's   sake,   doctor,   help   me !     This  way. 


272     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

quick  I     He's    in    such    a    shocking    state.     They've 
wounded  him  in  the  stomach.     Oh,  do  come  !  " 

Then  she  began  to  sob,  covering  her  face  with  her 
soft,  pink  hands. 

"  Emma  VasiUevna,  don't  distress  yourself  Hke 
that !  There's  no  need  for  it ! "  cried  the  burly 
Inspector,  with  a  deprecative  gesture. 

"  Pray  be  calm,  madam,"  added  the  Doctor  gently, 
being  softened,  now,  by  pity.  Yet,  as  he  spoke,  he 
glanced  at  her  hands  and  remembered  what  some  one 
had  told  him  that  very  day — told  him  how  they  had 
ripped  up  pregnant  Jewesses  and  stuffed  them  with 
feathers  from  their  bedding.  .  .  . 

"  Why  did  you  not  send  for  some  other  medical 
man  ?  "  he  asked  in  an  undertone,  without  looking  up. 

Her  eyes  flashed  in  surprise.  "  My  God,  who  else 
is  there  that  we  could  have  summoned  ?  You  are 
the  only  Russian  doctor  in  the  whole  town.  I  could 
not  have  sent  for  a  Jew.  They  are  all  so  bitterly 
hostile  to  him  !     Oh,  Doctor  !  " 

The  Inspector  came  nearer,  and  the  Doctor  under- 
stood why  he  moved.  He  looked  round  angrily, 
blinking  his  little  eyes.  "  Very  well,  then ;  where 
is  the  patient  ?  " 

"  Here,  here,  Doctor !  "  exclaimed  the  lady,  as  she 
caught  up  her  gown  and  hurriedly  offered  to  lead 
the  way. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  want  help,"  suggested  the 
Inspector. 

"  I  want  nobody,"  replied  the  Doctor  sharply, 
glad  of  an  opportunity  to  be  rude.  He  quickly 
followed  the  lady  through  two  dark  rooms,  presumably 
the  dining-room  and  the  salon,  for  the  Doctor  fancied 


THE  DOCTOR  273 

he  could  see  a  white  table  on  which  a  tea-urn  still 
stood,  pictures,  a  grand  piano,  dark,  yet  gleaming 
in  the  dusk,  and  large  mirrors.  They  walked  alter- 
nately on  polished  flooring  and  soft  carpets.  Every- 
where there  was  the  strange,  indefinable  aroma  of 
wealth  and  luxury  which  the  Doctor  found  intolerably 
oppressive.  He  could  now  hear  a  sound  that  was 
familiar  to  him,  the  laboured,  stertorous  breathing 
of  a  dying  man,  and  this  impressed  upon  him  the  fact 
that  he  had  a  duty  to  perform 

It  was  he  who  now  walked  first  and  entered  the 
sick-room.  It  smelt  strongly  of  sal-ammoniac  and 
iodoform.  A  Red  Cross  Sister  of  Mercy  was  standing 
beside  the  bed,  and  on  the  blood-stained  mattress, 
at  full  length,  with  his  chest  curiously  thrust  out,  lay 
the  Chief  Constable.  His  blue  trousers  were  unbut- 
toned and  had  been  drawn  down,  disclosing  his  naked 
stomach,  which  heaved  convulsively. 

The  Doctor  looked  sternly  at  his  patient  and  said  : 

"  Bring  a  light,  please,  Sister  !  " 

But  the  lady  herself  rushed  to  the  table  and  brought 
the  lamp.  When  the  light  fell  on  her  it  gave  her 
eyes  a  lurid  brilliance  as  she  looked  first  at  her 
prostrate  husband  and  then  at  the  Doctor's  face  like 
a  terrified  child. 

The  Doctor  bent  down.  "  Oh,  it's  there  !  I  see," 
he  muttered  to  himself. 

Just  below  the  ribs  there  was  a  little  dark  red  hole. 
With  two  fingers  he  cautiously  pressed  the  edges  of 
the  wound,  when  the  body  became  at  once  convulsed, 
and  a  wild,  hideous  scream  came  from  somewhere 
at  the  back  of  the  Doctor's  elbow.  Lamp  in  liand, 
the  lady  became  so  terribly  agitated  that  instinctively 


274     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

the  Doctor  put  out  his  hands  to  prevent  her  from 
falUng.     "  She's  going  to  faint,"  he  thought. 

"  My  dear  lady,"  he  said,  "  don't  give  way  hke  this. 
I  think  you  had  better  retire.  You  cannot  do  any- 
thing here."  Thus  persuading  her,  he  at  the  same 
time  took  hold  of  her  arm. 

She  stared  at  him,  wild-eyed.  "  No,  no !  It's 
nothing,  nothing  !  Oh,  be  quick.  Doctor  ;  for  God's 
sake,  be  quick  !  " 

But  the  Doctor  firmly  led  her  away,  and  she 
obediently  left  the  room. 

In  the  salon  the  maid  lit  a  lamp,  and  in  the  soft 
light  the  polished  surface  of  the  furniture  and  the 
gilt  frames  of  the  pictures  were  dimly  discernible. 
Almost  forcibly  the  Doctor  led  the  lady  to  a  couch. 
The  Inspector's  round,  red  face  peered  in  at  the 
door. 

"  Don't  come  back,  if  you  please.  Stay  here.  The 
Sister  of  Mercy  will  be  quite  sufficient,  and  I  am  going 
to  send  for  an  assistant-surgeon  at  once.  It  is  too 
much  for  you  ;   so  please  stay  here." 

"  We  have  already  sent  for  the  assistant-surgeon," 
said  the  Inspector  in  the  doorway. 

She  listened,  still  gazing  at  the  Doctor  with  her 
dark,  shining  eyes.  It  was  as  if  there  was  something 
that  she  did  not  understand.  Directly  the  Doctor 
moved,  with  cat-like  swiftness  she  caught  at  his  hand. 

"  Doctor,  tell  me,  for  God's  sake,  tell  me  the  truth  ! 
There's  no  danger,  is  there  ?  He's  not  going  to 
die  ?  "  she  faltered. 

The  Doctor  felt  more  and  more  how  terribly  she 
was  suffering,  and  his  pity  for  her  increased. 

"  Ah,  well,"  he  thought,  as  if  replying  to  his  own 


THE  DOCTOR  275 

indefinite  emotions,  "  every  one  for  himself !  This 
outrage  is  just  as  horrible  as  any  other.  Of  course 
to  her  he  is  the  dearest  thing  in  the  whole  world,  and 
he  loves  life  as^much  as  anybody  else.  It's  my  busi- 
ness to  help  all ;  not  to  look  upon  some  patients 
as  guilty,  and  upon  others  as  innocent." 

"  Be  calm,  madam,"  he  said  kindly.  "  Please  God, 
all  will  go  well.  The  wound  is  certainly  serious,  but 
you  have  sent  for  me  in  good  time.  Yes  ;  it  is  lucky 
that  you  did  so,"  he  added  with  emphasis. 

Although  the  uncertainty  was  as  great  as  ever, 
since  he  had  done  nothing  so  far,  the  wife's  dark  eyes 
grew  softer.  They  no  longer  glittered  feverishly 
but  expressed  heartfelt  gratitude.  She  sank  down, 
strengthless,  on  the  couch. 

"  Thank  you,  doctor,"  she  murmured.  Her  voice 
had  a  caressing  quality.  "  Go  back.  I  won't  disturb 
you  any  more.  But  if  .  .  .  if  .  .  .  you'll  call  me, 
won't  you,  Doctor  ?  " 

Against  his  will  the  Doctor  glanced  once  more  at 
this  enchanting  vision  of  shimmering  lace,  raven 
black  hair,  roseate  limbs,  and  rustling  silk.  "  How 
beautiful  she  is  !  "  he  thought.  "  And  she's  the  wife, 
the  bedfellow  of  that  brute !  Strange,  isn't  it  ? 
But  that's  just  how  things  are  in  this  world  !  " 

On  entering  the  bedroom  the  Doctor  closed  the 
door.  "  Sister,"  he  said  to  the  Red  Cross  nurse  seated 
beside  the  bed,  "  will  you  send  for  the  assistant- 
surgeon,  and  to  my  house  for  my  instruments  ?  They'll 
know  what  I  want.  Or,  perhaps  I  had  better  write 
a  note." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  replied  the  nurse,  rising,  "  but 
that  has  been  done  already,  I  beJieve," 


276     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

"  And  see  to  it,"  added  the  Doctor,  "  that  no  one 
comes  in  here.  The  patient  requires  rest.  Do  not 
admit  his  wife." 

When  left  alone  with  the  patient  the  Doctor  care- 
fully placed  the  lamp  on  a  little  table  near  the  bed 
and  sat  down  beside  it.  The  Chief  Constable  still 
lay  there  without  moving.  His  face  with  its  heavy 
moustache,  his  hands  with  rings  on  the  fingers,  his 
legs  in  big  varnished  top-boots,  were  all  equally 
motionless.  Only  the  red,  bare  stomach  heaved 
convulsively. 

The  Doctor  knew  what  had  to  be  done  and  what 
could  be  done.  A  single  glance  had  sufficed  to  assure 
him  that  so  robust  a  patient,  despite  the  gravity  of 
the  wound,  would  recover  if  no  complications  set  in, 
and  if  aid  were  given  in  time,  so  that,  not  unnaturally, 
he  felt  impatient.  He  took  the  patient's  hand  to  feel 
his  pulse.  A  powerful  hand  once,  maybe,  covered 
with  reddish  hair,  but  now  as  pliable  as  india-rubber. 
The  heavy  breathing  suddenly  ceased.  The  Doctor 
looked  intently  at  the  patient  and  perceived  that  he 
was  recovering  consciousness. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  feel  ?  "  he  asked. 

The  Chief  Constable  did  not  reply.  As  before,  his 
stomach  rose  and  fell,  and  his  eyes  through  their  half- 
closed  lids  had  a  dull,  lifeless  expression. 

The  Doctor  began  to  think  that  he  must  have  been 
mistaken,  when  just  at  that  moment  the  moustache 
quivered  and  a  strange  voice,  coming  as  it  were  from 
depths  within  the  patient's  body,  said  gently  and 
distinctly,  "  It  hurts  me  .  .  .  Doctor.  ...  I  am 
dying.  .  .  .  Where  is  Emma  .  .  .  my  wife  ?  " 

"  I  have  sent  your  wife  away.    It  is  too  much  for 


THE  DOCTOR  277 

her.  You  won't  die.  There's  not  the  least  fear  of 
that.  You'll  be  all  right,"  said  the  Doctor  in  the 
calm  tone  of  assurance  that  he  always  adopted  when 
addressing  patients. 

"  It  hurts  me  !  "  repeated  the  Chief  Constable  in  a 
fainter  voice,  and  he  sighed. 

"  Never  mind  !  We  shall  soon  put  that  right.  You 
must  have  a  little  patience,"  replied  the  Doctor  in 
the  same  soothing  tone.  But  his  patient  had  become 
unconscious  again,  and  it  was  distressing  to  hear  his 
laboured  breathing  beneath  his  tawny  moustache. 

The  Doctor  looked  at  the  clock,  sighed,  and  then 
rose.  The  wound  had  been  washed  by  the  Sister  of 
Mercy,  and  for  the  moment  nothing  could  be  done. 
He  became  more  and  more  uneasy  as  he  sat  there  in 
this  heated  atmosphere,  a  prey  to  vague,  gloomy 
thoughts.  He  went  to  the  window  and,  opening  the 
small  one,  looked  down  at  the  street.  The  fresh  air 
as  it  came  in  and  touched  his  forehead  was  reviving. 
The  street  was  empty  and  silent.  Then,  as  he,  listen- 
ing, looked  out  again  the  distant  sound  of  firing  came 
to  him  on  the  wind. 

.  .  .  Bang  !  .  .  .  Bang  bang  !  .  .  .  Bang  ! 

"  My  God  !  When  on  earth  will  it  stop  ?  "  he 
muttered. 

As  if  in  reply,  he  heard  the  hoarse  gurgling  of  the 
patient  in  the  room  behind  him.  "  This  fellow," 
thought  he,  "  what  a  beautiful,  charming  wife  he's 
got !  He's  strong  and  healthy,  and  surrounded  with 
comfort  of  every  kind.  His  children,  too,  are  healthy, 
happy  children,  no  doubt.  But  instead  of  being 
content  with  such  good  fortune,  instead  of  enjoying 
his  Hfe  and  prizing  the  joy  that  was  his,  he  must 


278     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

needs  do  such  atrocious  things  !  For  him  such  hideous 
deeds  are  utterly  unnecessary  and  uncalled  for.  He 
must  know  what  misery  they  cause.  And  yet,  in 
spite  of  it  all  .  .  ." 

The  wind  howled  more  furiously;  and  again  from 
the  bed  came  the  sound  of  laboured  breathing. 

The  Doctor  listened  anxiously.  He  fancied  that 
he  could  hear  a  scream  as  he  looked  right  and  left 
through  the  small  window  opening  on  to  the  street. 
Immediately  opposite  he  could  read  on  a  large  white 
signboard  the  words  Fish  Depot.  Suddenly  he  recol- 
lected how  some  six  or  seven  months  ago  he  had  been 
summoned  to  attend  a  tradesman  who  was  suffering 
from  a  slight  paralytic  stroke.  The  fat  fellow  lay 
on  the  sofa  like  a  sow  that  had  just  been  slaughtered. 
His  face  was  blue  as  that  of  a  corpse  ;  he  was  gasping 
for  breath  ;  and  every  now  and  then  his  limbs  twitched 
convulsively.  At  the  time  the  Doctor  did  everything 
that  was  possible,  sitting  up  all  night  with  the  patient, 
and  eventually  effecting  a  cure.  Now,  it  was  this 
very  same  tradesman,  Voskoboynikof  by  name,  who 
three  days  ago  had  collected  a  horde  of  drunken 
wretches  who  could  hardly  be  called  men,  and,  after 
treating  them  all  to  vodka,  had  distributed  red  flags 
among  them.  His  fat,  red  face  shone  with  excitement 
as  he  spluttered  out  a  lot  of  senseless  words  tliat  had 
now  resulted  in  all  these  bestial  outrages  and  inhuman 
massacres. 

"  There  it  is  !  "  thought  the  Doctor.  "  If  I  hadn't 
cured  him  when  I  did,  dozens  and  dozens  of  poor 
wretches  might  now  be  alive !  Why  did  I  ever 
do  it  ?  " 

He  left  the  window,  perplexed  and  confused,  as  if 


THE  DOCTOR  279 

trying  vainly  to  recollect  something.  Going  to  the 
bedside,  he  scrutinized  the  pale,  motionless  face  of 
his  patient.  At  times,  if  the  breathing  grew  more 
laboured,  bro&d  white  teeth  became  visible  beneath 
the  reddish  moustache  ;  and  then  the  whole  coun- 
tenance assumed  a  cunning  expression  as  that  of  a 
wild  beast.  A  wave  of  fury  and  disgust  came  over 
the  Doctor  as  he  watched. 

"  I  must  control  myself,"  he  thought.  "  I  have  no 
right  to  let  myself  be  influenced  by  personal  feelings. 
It  stands  to  reason  that  I  could  not  possibly  go  away 
and  leave  a  dying  man.  Yet  why  not !  Why 
shouldn't  I  leave  him  to  die  ?  No,  no  !  Impossible  !" 
The  note  of  assurance  rang  false,  emphatic  though  it 
was.  "  Damn  it  all  !  "  he  thought  angrily.  "  What 
does  it  mean  ?  Why  doesn't  somebody  come  ?  " 
Then  he  perceived  that  he  really  only  desired  "  some- 
body "  to  come  in  order  to  counteract  his  own  personal 
aversion,  and  to  enable  him  to  overcome  it. 

For  some  reason  or  other  he  felt  drawn  to  look  out 
of  the  window  again.  Gazing  into  the  darkness,  he 
seemed  to  see  once  more  a  hideous  sight  that  he  had 
witnessed  a  day  or  two  ago.  The  corpse  of  a  young 
man  had  been  brought  into  the  hospital.  The  face 
was  so  horribly  mutilated  that  identification  seemed 
impossible.  It  was  one  huge  grisly  clot  of  blood 
and  mire,  with  tufts  on  it  of  soft,  fair  hair.  Then  he 
remembered  a  girl  student,  a  little  Jewess  whom  he 
used  to  meet  almost  every  morning  when  on  his  way 
to  the  hospital.  She  was  a  bright,  graceful  girl,  and 
her  neat  brown  dress,  black  apron,  high  boots,  and 
glossy  hair  gave  her  a  charming  appearance.  For 
the  jaded  physician  it  was  refreshing  to  encounter 


280     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

this  sweet  embodiment  of  youth,  as  sweet  to  him  as 
the  fii'st  bright  vision  of  spring.  She,  too,  had  been 
murdered.  Her  body  was  the  second  that  he  had 
seen  on  that  fateful  day.  In  a  certain  street,  not 
far  from  a  smoking  house  of  which  the  door  and 
windows  had  been  battered  in,  amid  the  dirt  and 
wreckage  on  the  roadway,  he  had  observed  a  strange 
white  object.  Having  outraged  her,  the  pillagers  had 
stripped  her  stark  naked  and  flung  her  out  of  the 
window,  where,  as  the  Doctor  afterwards  learnt,  she 
had  dragged  herself  along  through  the  dirt  on  one 
leg.  Her  little  breasts  had  been  cut  by  the  sharp 
stones.  Her  dishevelled  hair  was  stiff  and  caked 
with  mud.  One  white  leg,  broken  and  useless,  lay 
bent  beneath  her  on  the  stones. 

Tears  for  the  first  time  now  rose  to  his  eyes,  wetting 
the  rims  of  his  glasses.  Suddenly  this  awful  picture, 
as  in  some  hideous  dream,  gave  place  to  that  of 
Voskoboynikof's  bloated,  shapeless  visage  with  its 
bloodshot,  goggling  eyes  and  gaping  mouth  ringed 
by  a  horde  of  ruffians,  maddened  by  vodka  and  lust. 

"  No,  they  are  not  human  beings  !  "  he  said  aloud, 
composed  now,  and  in  a  tone  of  conviction. 

The  face  of  the  murdered  girl  had  disappeared. 

Once  more  he  left  the  window  and  went  back 
towards  the  patient's  bedside,  but  as  soon  as  he  got 
to  the  middle  of  the  room  he  turned  sharply  on  his 
heel,  and,  without  looking  at  the  patient,  waved  his 
hand  deprecatingly  and  went  out. 
I  cannot !  "  he  said  sorrowfully. 


«( 


CHAPTER  III 

In  the  salon  he  collided  with  the  Sister  of  Mercy,  and 
stood  aside  to  let  her  pass.  He  was  then  in  a  strange, 
half-unconscious  condition,  and  later  on  had  no 
recollection  of  what  at  that  moment  was  passing 
through  his  mind.  The  Sister  stopped  and  said 
reassuringly,  as  she  looked  up  in  his  face  : 

"  They  have  sent  again,  sir,  to  Timopheief  and  to 
the  hospital." 

The  Doctor  looked  at  her  brow  pensively,  where 
little  fluffy  hairs  were  peeping  out  from  under  her 
white  cap.     Then  he  said  : 

"  Oh,  yes,  yes  !  " 

"  Perhaps  you  want  water  or  something  ?  Shall 
I  get  some  water  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Yes,  yes,  water  !  Of  course,"  shouted  the  Doctor 
furiously,  amazed  at  such  an  outburst  on  his  part. 
For  an  instant  he  saw  the  look  of  astonishment  on 
the  Sister  of  Mercy's  face.  She  was  evidently  offended. 
He  wanted  to  speak,  to  offer  some  explanation  of  his 
conduct,  but  he  could  only  wave  his  hand  feebly  as 
he  went  out.  Through  all  the  rooms  he  walked, 
conscious  that  the  Chief  Constable's  wife  was  watching 
him  in  amazement  and  distress,  though  as  she  rose 
from  the  couch  he  did  not  see  her.  On  reaching  the 
ante-room  he  began  to  put  on  his  overcoat  with 


282     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

trembling  hands.  She  followed  him  thither  as  with 
outstretched  arms  she  exclaimed  anxiously  : 

"  Where  are  you  going,  Doctor  ?  What  is  the 
matter  ?  " 

Behind  her,  his  hands  awkwardly  extended,  stood 
the  Inspector,  while  above  his  head  the  face  of  the 
young  officer  could  be  seen.  Then  the  Doctor,  who 
had  already  put  on  his  coat  and  goloshes,  turned  back, 
hat  in  hand,  and  went  into  the  dining-room.  He  was 
very  pale,  and  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor  he  said  : 
"  I  cannot.  .  .  .  You  had  better  call   in  some  one 

Her  dark  eyes  grew  wide  with  fear  as  she  clasped 
her  hands.  "  Doctor,  what  is  the  matter  with  you  ? 
Who  is  there  that  I  can  call  in  ?  As  I  have  already 
told  you,  we've  sent  everywhere.  You  are  the  only 
one.  .  .  .  What  does  it  mean  ?  Are  you  not  well 
yourself  ?  " 

The  Doctor  uttered  a  stifled  cry,  for  the  words  in 
answer  momentarily  failed  him.  "  Ugh  !  .  .  .  Not  at 
all !  I  am  well  ...  I  am  perfectly  well !  "  he 
exclaimed  testily,  trembling  all  over. 

A  death-like  pallor  overspread  her  features.  She 
gazed  at  him  in  mute  amazement.  Her  silence  and 
her  glassy  stare  told  him  that  she  had  understood. 

"  What  does  this  mean,  Doctor  ?  "  began  the  young 
officer  in  a  hectoring  tone.     But  she  held  him  back. 

"  You  won't  save  my  husband  because  he  .  .  ." 
Her  lips  quivered.     Her  voice  was  almost  inaudible. 

"  Yes  !  "  This  was  the  curt  reply  that  the  Doctor 
had  intended  to  give.  But  the  little  word  stuck  in 
his  throat.  He  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and 
his  fingers  twitched. 


THE  DOCTOR  283 


It 


Look  here,  sir,  what  .  .  ."  cried  the  Inspector 
angrily.  Then,  for  some  reason  or  other,  he  stopped, 
and  looked  about  him  in  confusion. 

There  was  a  brief  silence.  The  lady  gazed  despair- 
ingly at  the  Doctor,  who  kept  his  eyes  stubbornly 
fixed  on  one  of  the  little  feet  of  the  table. 

"  Doctor  !  "  she  pleaded  at  last  in  a  voice  full  of 
anguish. 

He  quickly  looked  up,  but  made  no  reply.  Within 
him  at  that  moment  a  painful,  secret  conflict  was  in 
progress.  It  seemed  so  utterly  criminal  and  unjust 
to  leave  a  dying  man  like  this  and  to  refuse  to  help 
her  in  her  despair  ;  to  go  away,  and  before  going  to 
condemn  to  death  a  helpless,  suffering  fellow-creature. 

At  this  awful  juncture  he  strove  to  find  some  outlet, 
some  way  of  escape.  But  there  was  none.  At  one 
moment  it  seemed  that  the  simplest  way  for  him 
would  be  to  go  back  and  give  help  and  consolation. 
Then,  in  another  instant,  clear,  obvious  as  justice 
itself,  his  duty  appeared  to  be  exactly  the  reverse. 
He  ought  to  go.  To  which  prompting  should  he 
yield  ? 

"  Doctor  !  "  she  murmured  in  the  same  supplicating 
tone,  as  she  came  close  to  him  and  held  out  her  arms. 

Quite  apart  from  and  outside  this  train  of  thought, 
he  suddenly  reflected  that  he  was  getting  warm  in  his 
thick  overcoat,  and  might  catch  cold  if  he  went  out 
into  the  street.  Then,  it  seemed  to  him  as  if  he  had 
already  taken  off  his  coat,  and  was  at  the  bedside 
looking  at  that  face  with  its  tawny  moustache  and 
large  white  teeth. 

"  No  :    it's  impossible  !  "  he  thought ;    and  again 


284     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

before  his  mental  vision  there  floated  the  hideous 
picture  of  the  young  man's  battered  head  and  of  the 
girl-student's  naked  limb.  In  his  ears  rang  those 
words  spoken  by  that  man  he  knew  :  "  They  ripped 
them  up  and  then  stuffed  them  with  feathers  from 
the  bedding."  A  paroxysm  of  wrath  again  assailed 
him  and  he  cried  hoarsely  :   "  No,  I  cannot  !  " 

Waving  her  aside,  he  went  to  the  door,  when  she 
suddenly  shrieked,  and  he  stopped. 

"  You  dare  not  go  !  It's  your  duty  to  stop  and 
save  my  husband  !  I  will  denounce  you  !  You  shall 
suffer  for  this  !     Platon  Mikhailovitch  !  " 

The  Inspector  and  the  young  officer  with  two 
policemen  advanced,  all  ready  at  a  word  from  the 
lady  in  her  silks  and  laces,  to  seize  him.  Standing 
in  front  of  him,  her  slender  hands  clenched  and  her 
eyes  round  and  flashing,  she  leaned  forward. 

"  You  dare  not  !  "  she  hissed.  "  Do  you  know,  I 
will  compel  you  by  force  to  remain  .  .  .  !  " 

"  Ivanof !  "  cried  the  Inspector,  turning  very  red. 

"  Aha  !  Ivanof,  indeed  !  "  replied  the  Doctor  in 
a  strange,  deliberate  tone,  as  he  relinquished  his  hold 
of  the  door-handle  and  faced  her. 

*'  You  mean  to  threaten  me,  do  you  ?  Very  well. 
If  I  act  in  this  way  it  is  because  I  have  good  reasons 
for  doing  so.  I  am  obliged  to  stop,  am  I  ?  Who  says 
that,  pray  ?  Let  me  tell  you  that  I  am  obliged  to  do 
nothing  that  disgusts  me.  Your  husband  is  a  brute, 
and  if  he  is  suflering — well,  it's  a  pity  he  can't  be 
made  to  suffer  more.  Why  should  I  save  him  ?  Why 
should  I  save  the  life  of  a  man  who — Do  you  know 
what  you  are  saying  ?  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 
yourself  I    How  can  you  possibly  plead  for  such  a 


THE  DOCTOR  285 

man  ?  Ah  !  No,  no  !  Let  him  die  !  Let  him  die 
hke  a  dog  !  I  won't  move  a  finger  to  help  him.  Arrest 
me,  if  you  Hke  !     We  wall  soon  see  about  that !  " 

His  thin  little  voice  rose  almost  to  a  scream,  and  his 
small  myopic  eyes  twinkled  defiantly.  In  this  moment 
he  tasted  the  sweetness  of  revenge.  The  vent  for  all 
his  pent-up  grief  and  impotent  fury  had  been  found. 
His  features  were  contorted  by  a  sardonic  smile  of 
which  he  was  himself  unconscious.  In  his  anger  he 
saw  nothing  of  what  was  going  on. 

The  lady  in  her  laces  tottered  helplessly  and  almost 
fell.  Her  face  became  ghastly  white  and  all  traces 
of  its  beauty  disappeared.  Her  lips  quivered,  as  in 
mute  despair  she  held  out  limp,  supplicating  hands. 

"  Doctor  !     Doctor  !  " 

He  stopped  short  in  his  tirade  and  looked  at  her  in 
amazement,  as  if  he  had  quite  forgotten  her  presence. 

"  I  ...  I  know.  Doctor  .  .  ."  she  stammered,  "  but 
.  .  .  Doctor  .  .  .  did  he  himself  .  .  .  actually  .  .  .  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  yet  if  he  didn't,  that  is  no  justification,"  he 
muttered. 

"  I  know  !  I  know  !  But  now,  Doctor,  now  he'll 
die!" 

"  Yes,  but  .  .  ."  began  the  Doctor,  growing  angry 
again. 

She  cut  him  short,  as  she  caught  hold  of  his  coat- 
sleeve.  "  Ah  !  Doctor,  I  love  him,  and  I  can't  live 
without  him.  See  how  much  I  suffer,  too !  Oh 
Doctor,  in  the  name  of  all  the  Saints  !  Have  you  no 
pity  ?  .  .  .  Our  children  .  .  ."  Suddenly  she  fell  on 
her  knees. 

"  Emma    Vasilievna !     What    are    you    doing  ?  " 


286     TALES  OF  THE  REVOLUTION 

cried  the  Inspector  and  the  officer,  rushing  forward. 
But  she  thrust  them  aside. 

So  strange  and  unlooked  for  was  this  attitude  of 
hers  that  for  a  moment  the  Doctor  staggered  back- 
wards. She  crawled  towards  him  on  her  knees  as 
her  rusthng  silk  skirts  trailed  along  the  floor  ;  and  at 
the  sight  of  this  frail  woman  in  her  anguish  the  Doctor 
felt  a  sharp  pang  at  his  heart. 

"  Doctor  !    Doctor  !     For  God's  sake,  stop  !  " 

He  was  trembling  in  every  hmb,  and  for  the  space 
of  a  second  he  felt  that  he  could  not  resist.  But 
just  then  the  Inspector  seized  his  arm  roughly,  and 
in  another  access  of  fury  he  shook  himself  free  and 
rushed  to  the  door. 

She  seized  his  sleeve,  shrieking,  but,  loosing  her 
hold,  fell  down  in  a  swoon  on  the  floor,  a  rigid  mass 
of  rose-pink  silk  and  tangled  hair.  They  lifted  her 
up,  yet  not  before  the  Doctor,  as  he  flung  open  the 
door,  had  caught  a  glimpse  of  her  lying  there,  prone. 
They  rushed  after  him,  and  the  Inspector  called  out 
the  soldiers.  He  could  hear  the  tramp  of  their  feet 
on  the  stairs  below.  Trembling,  aghast,  he  clutched 
the  banisters  and  fled,  while  rings  of  fire  danced  before 
his  eyes. 


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